It was the Green Man.

He saluted by raising his hand to his cap and seated himself at a table near to ours.
"A glass of cider, Daddy Mathieu," he said.
As the Green Man entered, Daddy Mathieu had started violently; but visibly mastering himself he said: "I've no more cider; I served the last bottles to these gentlemen." "Then give me a glass of white wine," said the Green Man, without showing the least surprise.
"I've no more white wine--no more anything," said Daddy Mathieu, surlily.
"How is Madame Mathieu ?" "Quite well, thank you." So the young Woman with the large, tender eyes, whom we had just seen, was the wife of this repugnant and brutal rustic, whose jealousy seemed to emphasise his physical ugliness.
Slamming the door behind him, the innkeeper left the room.

Mother Angenoux was still standing, leaning on her stick, the cat at her feet.
"You've been ill, Mother Angenoux ?--Is that why we have not seen you for the last week ?" asked the Green Man.
"Yes, Monsieur keeper.

I have been able to get up but three times, to go to pray to Sainte-Genevieve, our good patroness, and the rest of the time I have been lying on my bed.

There was no one to care for me but the Bete du bon Dieu!" "Did she not leave you ?" "Neither by day nor by night." "Are you sure of that ?" "As I am of Paradise." "Then how was it, Madame Angenoux, that all through the night of the murder nothing but the cry of the Bete du bon Dieu was heard ?" Mother Angenoux planted herself in front of the forest-keeper and struck the floor with her stick.
"I don't know anything about it," she said.