He shut up his photographic apparatus, pulling out the tripod from the
deep soil in which it was imbedded, while his daughters joyously ran to
their mother. The young girls stood gazing at Moniche with their great
blue eyes, piercing and clear. Bernardet turned to look at him, and at
once divined that something had happened.

"You are as white as your handkerchief, Moniche," he said.

"Ah! Monsieur Bernardet! It is enough to terrify one! There has been a
murder in the house."

"A murder?"

His face, which had been so gay and careless, suddenly took on a strange
expression, at once tense and serious; the large blue eyes shone as with
an inward fire.

"A murder, yes, Monsieur Bernardet. M. Rovere--you did not know him?"

"No."

"He was an original--a recluse. And now he has been assassinated. My
wife went to his room to read the papers"----

Bernardet interrupted him brusquely:

"When did it happen?"

"Ah! _Dame!_ Monsieur, I do not know. All I know is my wife found the
body still warm. She was not afraid; she touched it."

"Still warm!"

These words struck Bernardet. He reflected a moment, then he said:

"Come; let us go to your house."

Then, struck with a sudden idea, he added: "Yes, I will take it."

He unfastened his camera from the tripod. "I have three plates left
which I can use," he said.

Mme. Bernardet, who was standing at a little distance, with the children
clinging to her skirts, perceived that the concierge had brought
important news. Bernardet's smiling face had suddenly changed; the
expression became serious, his glance fixed and keen.

"Art thou going with him?" Mme. Bernardet asked, as she saw her husband
buckle on a leather bandolier.

"Yes!" he answered.

"Ah! Mon Dieu! my poor Sunday, and this evening--can we not go to the
little theatre at Montmartre this evening?"

"I do not know," he replied.

"You promised! The poor children! You promised to take them to see
Closerie des Genets!"

"I cannot tell; I do not know--I will see," the little man said. "My
dear Moniche, to-day is my fortieth birthday. I promised to take them to
the theatre--but I must go with you." Turning to his wife, he added:
"But I will come back as soon as I can. Come, Moniche, let us hasten to
your M. Rovere."

He kissed his wife on the forehead, and each little girl on both cheeks,
and, strapping the camera in the bandolier, he went out, followed by the
tailor. As they walked quickly along Moniche ke