“Well, Baron, what about your news? Are you going to take it on to Vimines?” “That’s just it,” said he, winking his wicked eye. “So you won’t tell us about it?” “Oh, you will know it soon enough.” “It’s all cry and no wool with you, you old humbug!” On the threshold the rustic turned round and delivered himself of a platitude with a sarcastic smile: “Live and learn! Well, well, what will the old woman do?” His feet falling lightly in the snow he passed behind Paule, who was still leaning on the veranda rail. “Good evening, miss. Bear up! You never know who’s alive or who’s dead.” The girl started again, more at this voice heard unexpectedly behind her back than at the words, whose meaning she did not understand. She came back to the kitchen with a vague fear mingled with her uneasiness. “Make us some nice soup, Marie, and very hot. It is freezing hard.” And cheered by the cosy hearth she added, “That Baron almost frightened me.” The servant snorted. “A good-for-nothing like that, with a long tongue! I don’t want to see him round here any more. Your father was a good Samaritan when he picked up that fish. And he has the evil eye. We must take care. If the soup is burned, it will be all his fault. I don’t know what story he had heard in the town, but he had a long face and was watching us as a cat watches a rat.” The girl went back to the drawing-room to stir the fire. Now she was alone, she no longer felt her accustomed courage. Her heart was beating loudly in her breast. She tried to comfort herself and did not succeed. “Trélaz’s horse goes so slowly. That business at the lawyer’s always lasts so much longer than one thinks it will....” She could no longer keep down her anxiety, which increased every minute. Even prayer could not calm her. As she was on her knees, she heard the drawing-room door open. “Is Mamma there?” she cried as she rose from her knees. It was old Marie who appeared at the door. “No, Miss Paule. It is a man who wants to speak to the mistress.” “Who is he?” “He says he is a policeman and has been sent by the Mayor.” “A policeman! What does he want with us?” As her mind recalled all the bad omens of that evening, the girl trembled while she gave the order for the man to be shown in. But she controlled herself and received the Mayor’s messenger with the greatest outward calm. Faroux, the policeman, was one of those silent, stolid countrymen who give themselves up entirely to their work without ever thinking about it. But in the presence of Paule Guibert it was impossible for him not to understand at last the importance of his mission. As he came along the road he had not given a thought to it. So many people approach thus absent-mindedly the most sacred and most serious tasks. Standing before him the girl said: “My mother is not at home. But could I not take her place?” He stood there silent and stupid, and the pause increased Paule’s secret fear. He stammered at last: