"
And satisfied with the reproof he had administered, he picked up the
newspaper, and seated himself beside the fire, placing the candle near
him so as to read with ease. A minute had scarcely elapsed when he in
his turn bounded in his chair, and stifled a cry of instinctive terror
and surprise. These were the first words that met his eye.
"A horrible crime has plunged the village of La Jonchere in
consternation. A poor widow, named Lerouge, who enjoyed the general
esteem and love of the community, has been assassinated in her home. The
officers of the law have made the usual preliminary investigations, and
everything leads us to believe that the police are already on the track
of the author of this dastardly crime."
"Thunder!" said old Tabaret to himself, "can it be that Madame Gerdy?--"
The idea but flashed across his mind; he fell back into his chair, and,
shrugging his shoulders, murmured,--
"Really this affair of La Jonchere is driving me out of my senses! I
can think of nothing but this Widow Lerouge. I shall be seeing her in
everything now."
In the mean while, an uncontrollable curiosity made him peruse the
entire newspaper.
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