it concern us? We must, however, hurry and ascertain whether it
is true. I have sent for the brigadier, and he will join us."

"Let us go," said M. Courtois; "I have my scarf in my pocket."

They hastened off. Philippe and his father went first, the young
man eager and impatient, the old one sombre and thoughtful. The
mayor, at each step, made some exclamation.

"I can't understand it," muttered he; "a murder in my commune! a
commune where, in the memory of men, no crime has been committed!"

And he directed a suspicious glance toward the two Bertauds. The
road which led toward the chateau of M. de Tremorel was an
unpleasant one, shut in by walls a dozen feet high. On one side
is the park of the Marchioness de Lanascol; on the other the
spacious garden of Saint Jouan. The going and coming had taken
time; it was nearly eight o'clock when the mayor, the justice,
and their guides stopped before the gate of M. de Tremorel.

The mayor rang. The bell was very large; only a small gravelled
court of five or six yards separated the gate from the house;
nevertheless no one appeared.

The mayor rang more vigorously, then with all his strength; but in
vain.

Before the gate of Mme. de Lanascol's chateau, nearly opposite, a
groom was standing, occupied in cleaning and polishing a bridle-bit.
"It's of no use to ring, gentlemen," said this man; "there's nobody