man called out to her as he whipped his horses:

"Good evening, Mademoiselle Source--good night!"

She replied as she walked on:

"Good evening, Pere Joseph." Next morning, at half past seven, the
postman who conveyed letters to the village, noticed at the crossroad,
not far from the highroad, a large splash of blood not yet dry. He said
to himself: "Hallo! some boozer must have been bleeding from the nose."

But he perceived ten paces farther on a pocket-handkerchief also stained
with blood. He picked them up. The linen was fine, and the postman, in
alarm, made his way over to the dike, where he fancied he saw a strange
object.

Mademoiselle Source was lying at the foot on the grass, her throat cut
open with a knife.

An hour later, the gendarmes, the examining magistrate, and other
authorities made an inquiry as to the cause of death.

The two female relatives, called as witnesses, told all about the old
maid's fears and her last plans.

The orphan was arrested. Since the death of the woman who had adopted
him, he wept from morning till night, plunged, at least to all
appearance, in the most violent grief.

He proved that he had spent the evening up to eleven o'clock in a cafe.