Убийство на поле для гольфа
3. At the Villa Geneviève
“MadameDaubreuil—fromtheVillaMargueritejustdowntheroad?”
“ThatiswhatIsaid,monsieur.Oh,sheisaprettyone,cellela!”Theoldwomantossedherheadscornfully.
“MadameDaubreuil,”murmuredthecommissary.“Impossible.”
“Voilà,”grumbledFrançoise.“Thatisallyougetfortellingthetruth.”
“Notatall,”saidtheexaminingmagistratesoothingly.“Weweresurprised,thatisall.MadameDaubreuilthen,andMonsieurRenauld,theywere—”hepauseddelicately.“Eh?Itwasthatwithoutdoubt?”
“HowshouldIknow?Butwhatwillyou?Monsieur,hewasmiloranglais—trésriche—andMadameDaubreuil,shewaspoor,thatone—andtréschicforallthatshelivessoquietlywithherdaughter.Notadoubtofit,shehashadherhistory!Sheisnolongeryoung,butmafoi!Iwhospeaktoyouhaveseenthemen’sheadsturnafterherasshegoesdownthestreet.Besideslately,shehashadmoremoneytospend—allthetownknowsit.Thelittleeconomies,theyareatanend.”AndFrançoiseshookherheadwithanairofunalterablecertainty.
M.Hautetstrokedhisbeardreflectively.
“AndMadameRenauld?”heaskedatlength.“Howdidshetakethis—friendship.”
Françoiseshruggedhershoulders.
“Shewasalwaysmostamiable—mostpolite.Onewouldsaythatshesuspectednothing.Butallthesame,isitnotso,theheartsuffers,monsieur?Daybyday,IhavewatchedMadamegrowpalerandthinner.Shewasnotthesamewomanwhoarrivedhereamonthago.Monsieur,too,haschanged.Healsohashadhisworries.
