The Horseman on the Roof by Jean Giono

dead. Has one the right to abandon a human being? And even if he dies, shouldn’t one do all one can to give him an easier death? Remember the poor little Frenchman, and how he looked for the last ones in every corner, ‘those who still have a chance,’ as he put it.”
    He searched for the branching-off of the earth track along which they had come. He must have passed it; he retraced his steps. But the track must have emerged through a patch of grass; he tried in vain, groping along the banks, light in hand, to try to find the cart tracks. He remounted and set off toward the south. He was highly displeased with himself. He could see once more the ironic look of the “poor little Frenchman” and even the terrible irony imprinted on his face in its death agony.

CHAPTER FOUR
    It was impossible to tell if the night was ending. On all sides there were opaque shadows. The road led through woods.
    Several times Angelo, advancing at a walk, had a feeling that he was passing close by hidden people. His nerves were on edge, and he felt more and more displeased with himself. He was sorry he hadn’t stayed with the captain to dig the graves. If he could have found a way back, he would certainly have done something foolish. He had even reached the stage of thinking, not only that he was vulgar and base, but also that his face must have become vulgar and base; that his whole attitude, his way of riding, even his ease of manner, were vulgar and base.
    â€œWithout someone watching you, you’re worthless,” he told himself. “Since you couldn’t find the path, you should have covered the fields until you came upon that convict, who must now be dying, and brought him back to the sentry post, where they’d have looked after him. Or at least have made certain he was indisputably dead. Afterward, you’d have had the right to go on your way, but not before. Otherwise, you have no quality.” And he even told himself: “You say it was difficult. Not at all. You had only to return toward the red flames, to the place where you met that frightened man, who was doing his duty in spite of his fright, and whom you’ve no right to judge anyway since you’ve never stayed in the middle of the night by a bonfire burning eighty corpses, and you don’t know if, in his place, you wouldn’t have done worse.”
    He was perfectly sincere. He entirely forgot the night and day during which he had ceaselessly tended the child and the “poor little Frenchman,” as well as his vigil beside the two corpses, when he had behaved extremely well.
    As soon as he heard anew some furtive sounds in the bushes, he halted and asked in a loud voice: “Is there anyone there?” There was no reply, but the springy carpet of pine needles crunched under footsteps. “Can I help somebody in there?” Angelo repeated, in a calm voice that must have sounded like music to the ears of people in trouble. The noise of footsteps ceased and, after a brief moment, a woman’s voice answered: “Yes, sir.” Angelo at once struck a light, and a woman emerged from the wood. She was holding two children by the hand. She screwed up her eyes to see who was behind the light of the flame that Angelo, without thinking, was holding close to his face, and drew nearer. She was young and dressed so elegantly for the place that she at first appeared unreal among these pine trunks, lit up by Angelo’s tinder. The children too seemed out of a fairy tale: a little boy of eleven or twelve in an Eton jacket and a tasseled cap, and a little girl of about the same age, whose long white lawn pantaloons emerged below her dress and covered her lacquered shoes with thick ruffles of lace.
    The young woman explained that she was the governess of the two children: they had all three come from Paris barely six days ago to the Château of Aubignosc, a week ahead of M. and Mme de Chambon, who were due to come