The Red Collar by Jean-Christophe Rufin, Adriana Hunter Page B

with shimmering scales. The point of the stick had struck it exactly through the middle.
    â€œTell me, Louis, you’re being a good boy at the moment. But you still go to see her.”
    The boy shook his head.
    â€œNo, no! I swear it.”
    â€œDon’t swear, that’s unwise. Especially as I know you do. I’ve been watching you too, would you believe.”
    Louis fiddled with the stick which was still driven through the fish.
    â€œListen,” Gabarre went on. “I also know you haven’t done anything bad. You can’t fight it, but there it is. So long as you don’t disturb her anymore, you can watch her through the trees, if it makes you happy.”
    The young man gave a sideways glance at the police officer. He couldn’t see where he was going with this conversation.
    â€œI’d like you to help me, Louis. You owe me that at least, don’t you?”
    Louis waited to hear what came next before responding.
    â€œDo you know Morlac, Valentine’s sweetheart?”
    A flash of loathing lit Louis’s eyes.
    â€œHe went off to war,” he said nastily. His diction was poor and his voice muted.
    â€œHe went off but he came back. And you know that.”
    Louis looked away.
    â€œYou go and see her every day, am I right?”
    The young man said nothing.
    â€œDon’t go telling me lies. I know your habits. You take yourself off to the woods above her vegetable patch in the mornings, so you can watch her bend over her crops. And in the evenings you go around the back of the house to watch her when she goes to milk the goat. Don’t deny it. So long as you behave yourself, I don’t have any complaints.”
    â€œI only touched her once . . . ”
    â€œAnd you frightened her enough with that. For her to want to call me, given how little she likes uniforms, she must have had quite a scare.”
    â€œIt’s over now.”
    â€œI believe you, Louis. And that’s not why I’m here.”
    â€œWell?”
    â€œWell, like I said, you can help me. I want you to tell me what you know.”
    Louis scratched his chest with a great square paw covered in black hairs.
    â€œHave you seen Morlac around here since he came home from the war?”
    Louis was not enjoying this conversation. He obviously wanted to react the way he did best when he wasn’t happy about something: by fleeing. But Gabarre was boring into him with his hard little peasant’s eyes, and Louis was afraid of him.
    â€œI think so.”
    â€œNo stories, please. Did he come here, yes or no?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œSeveral times?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œHow many?”
    â€œEvery day.”
    The police officer paused, as if he were stowing this information in a locked cupboard.
    â€œDo you know he’s in prison?”
    Louis’s eyes widened. A malicious smile stole over his face but he smothered it immediately.
    â€œNo. What’s he done?”
    â€œSomething stupid, on Bastille Day.”
    â€œSo that’s why he hasn’t been recently.”
    â€œWhen was the last time you saw him?”
    â€œI don’t know about dates. Three weeks ago, I’d say . . . ”
    â€œThat makes sense. He came until the day before the parade. And what did he do when he came here? Did he talk to her?”
    â€œOh, no!” the young man cried out.
    Gabarre sensed this was a limit that, luckily, Morlac hadn’t overstepped. If he had done, the situation might have taken a different turn and, knowing Louis’s suppressed violence, it could well have been dramatic.
    â€œSo, tell me. What did he do? Did he hide like you and watch her?”
    â€œI’m better at hiding than him. He didn’t see me.”
    â€œWhat about her, do you think she saw him?”
    â€œI’d be surprised. It wasn’t her he was following.”
    â€œWho then?”
    â€œThe kid.”
    Gabarre took a step back and sat