her face had sunk in the mud.

"A murder!" muttered Philippe, whose voice trembled.

"That's certain," responded Jean, in an indifferent tone. "But who
can this woman be? Really one would say, the countess."

"We'll see," said the young man. He stepped toward the body; his
father caught him by the arm.

"What would you do, fool?" said he. "You ought never to touch the
body of a murdered person without legal authority."

"You think so?"

"Certainly. There are penalties for it."

"Then, come along and let's inform the Mayor."

"Why? as if people hereabouts were not against us enough already!
Who knows that they would not accuse us--"

"But, father--"

"If we go and inform Monsieur Courtois, he will ask us how and why
we came to be in Monsieur de Tremorel's park to find this out. What
is it to you, that the countess has been killed? They'll find her
body without you. Come, let's go away."

But Philippe did not budge. Hanging his head, his chin resting