"It's all I have left of him.

You've killed a gendarme; ah, it was the gendarmes who killed him!" She continued gazing fixedly at Silvere with an air of cruel satisfaction, and apparently without thought of detaining him.

She never asked him for any explanation, nor wept like those good grandmothers who always imagine, at sight of the least scratch, that their grandchildren are dying.

All her nature was concentrated in one unique thought, to which she at last gave expression with ardent curiosity: "Did you kill the gendarme with the gun ?" Either Silvere did not quite catch what she said, or else he misunderstood her.
"Yes!" he replied.

"I'm going to wash my hands." It was only on returning from the well that he perceived his uncle.
Pierre had turned pale on hearing the young man's words.