"Over there, about half a mile away. It requires a light to find out more." At this moment Jacques heard a thud overhead. He was so nervous that he started. "It's nothing," said Misard. "It's only Flore moving." And, in fact, the young man recognised the pit-pat of two naked feet on the floor. She had come to listen at the half-open door. "I'll go with you," Jacques resumed. "Are you sure he's dead?" "Well, he looked like it," answered the other. "We shall soon see with the lantern." "What's your opinion?" inquired Jacques. "An accident?" "Maybe," replied Misard. "Some chap who's got cut in two, or perhaps a passenger who jumped out of a carriage." Jacques shuddered. "Come along quick, quick!" he exclaimed. Never had he been agitated with such a fever to see and know. Outside the house, while his companion, without any concern, walked along the line swinging his lantern, he ran on ahead, irritated at the delay. It was like a physical desire, the fire within that precipitates the steps of lovers at the hour of meeting. He feared what awaited him yonder, and yet he flew there with all the muscles of his limbs. When he reached the spot, when he almost stumbled over a dark heap lying near the down-line, he remained planted where he stood with a shiver running from his heels to the nape of his neck. And, his anguish at being unable to see distinctly, turned to oaths against the other, who was loitering along, thirty paces behind. "Come on, come on!" he shouted. "If he's still alive, we may be able to do something for him." Misard waddled forward in his sluggish way. Then, when he had swung the lantern to and fro, over the body, he muttered: "Ah! the devil take me! It's all up with him." The man, no doubt tumbling out of a carriage, had fallen with his face downwards, a couple of feet at the most from the metals. Nothing could be seen of his head but a crown of thick black hair. His legs were apart. His right arm lay as if dislocated, while his left was bent under his chest. He was very well attired in a big, blue cloth overcoat, neat boots, and fine linen. The body bore no trace of having been crushed, but a quantity of blood had run from the throat, and soiled the shirt collar. "Some gentleman whom they've done for," tranquilly resumed Misard, after a few seconds' silent inspection. Then, turning towards Jacques, who stood motionless and thunderstruck, he continued: "He must not be touched. It's forbidden. You will have to remain here, and watch over him, while I go to Barentin to tell the station-master about it." He raised his lantern, and looked at a mile-post. "Good!" said he. "Just at post 153." And, placing his lantern on the ground beside the corpse, he took himself off at his usual loitering gait.