"Man doux! but I thought it was the devil himself," said old Mrs.
Guille. "Oui-gia!" and shook an angry fist at him.
But the discoverer of the body was already away along the road to
Vauroque, covering the ground like a little incarnation of ill-news.
The exertion of running cleared away the choking, if it took his breath.
He shouted as he drew near the houses.
"Ah, bah!" growled one of the diners inside. "What's to do now, then?"
"He's there ... Peter ... under Coupee ... Where Tom Hamon...." panted
the news-bearer as he tore past to his own home. And the rest of
Vauroque emptied itself into the road and stood looking along it, as the
stragglers came up, white-faced and wild-eyed.
"He's there," confirmed one woman, twisting up her loosened hair. "And
just same place where Tom Hamon lay."
"'Tweren't Gard killed _him_, then," said one of the diners, chewing
over that thought with his last mouthful.
"Nor Tom neither, then, maybe," said another.
"We've bin on wrong tack, then;" and they went off round the corner at a
speed their build would hardly have credited them with.
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