Modern French Stories by Julian Hawthorne (ed)

Author:Julian Hawthorne (ed) [Hawthorne, Julian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: anthology, classics, French, mystery
ISBN: 9781117888132
Google: L3DyRQAACAAJ
Amazon: 1117888142
Publisher: BCR
Published: 2010-03-11T07:00:00+00:00

French Mystery Stories

*' And you have found nothing which could give you a clew as to his purpose ? *'

Absolutely nothing, Christian/*

But, as a matter of fact, what could he have been doing in the cistern? On what did he live? "

The burgomaster shrugged his shoulders, refilled our glasses, and replied with:

" To your health, cousin."

" To yours."

We remained silent a few minutes. It was impossible for me to accept the abrupt conclusion of the adventure, and, in spite of myself, I mused with some melancholy on the sad fate of certain men who appear and disappear in this world like the grass of the field, without leaving the least memory or the least regret.

" Cousin," I resumed, " how far may it be from here to the ruins of Geierstein ? "

" Twenty minutes' walk at the most. Why? "

" Because I should like to see them."

" You know that we have a meeting of the municipal council, and that I can't accompany you."

" Oh! I can find them by myself."

" No, the rural guard will show you the way; he has nothing better to do."

And my worthy cousin, having rapped on his glass, called his servant:

" Katel, go and find Hans Goemer—^let him hurry, and get here by two o'clock. I must be going."

The servant went out and the rural guard was not tardy in coming.

He was directed to take me to the ruins.

While the burgomaster proceeded gravely toward the hall of the municipal council, we were already climbing the hill. Hans Goemer, with a wave of the hand, indicated the remains of the aqueduct. At the same moment the rocky ribs of the plateau, the blue distances of Hundsriick, the sad crumbling walls covered with somber ivy, the tolling of the Hirschwiller bell summoning the notables to'the

Erckmann^hairian

council, the rural guardsman panting and catching at the brambles—assumed in my eyes a sad and severe tinge, for which I could not account: it was the story of the hanged man which took the color out of the prospect.

The cistern staircase struck me as being exceedingly curious, with its elegant spiral. The bushes bristling in the fissures at every step, the deserted aspect of its surroundings, all harmonized with my sadness. We descended, and soon the luminous point of the opening, which seemed to contract more and more, and to take the shape of a star with curved rays, alone sent us its pale light. When we attained the very bottom of the cistern, we found a superb sight was to be had of all those steps, lighted from above and cutting off their shadows with marvelous precision. I then heard the hum of which I have already spoken: the immense granite conch had as many echoes as stones I

"Has nobody been down here since the little man?" I asked the rural guardsman.

" No, sir. The peasants are afraid. They imagine that the hanged man will return."

"And you?"

" I—-oh, I'm not curious."

" But the justice of the peace ? His

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