leg was stronger and more flexible than on the day before;
it burned and prickled less, and could be bent a little at the knee with
small distress; so he led the old Michel at a good pace down the length
of the enclosure, past the rose-gardens, a tangle of unkempt sweetness,
and so to the opposite wall. He found the gates there, very
formidable-looking, made of vertical iron bars connected by cross-pieces
and an ornamental scroll. They were fastened together by a heavy chain
and a padlock. The lock was covered with rust, as were the gates
themselves, and Ste. Marie observed that the lane outside upon which
they gave was overgrown with turf and moss, and even with seedling
shrubs; so he felt sure that this entrance was never used. The lane, he
noted, swept away to the right toward Issy and not toward the Clamart
road. He heard, as he stood there, the whir of a tram from far away at
the left, a tram bound to or from Clamart, and the sound brought to his
mind what he wished to do. He turned about and began to make his way
round the rose-gardens, which were partly enclosed by a low brick wall
some two or three feet high. Beyond them the trees and shrubbery were
not set out in orderly rows as they were near the house, but grew at
will without hindrance or care. It was like a bit of the Meudon wood.

He found the going more difficult here for his bad leg, but he pressed
on, and in a little while saw before him that wall which skirted the
Clamart road. He felt in his pocket for the four sealed and stamped
letters, but just then the old Michel spoke behind him:

"Pardon, Monsieur! Ce n'est pas permis."

"What is not permitted?" demanded Ste. Marie, wheeling about.

"To approach that wall, Monsieur," said the old man, with an incredibly
gnomelike and apologetic grin.

Ste. Marie gave an exclamation of disgust. "Is it believed that I could
leap over it?" he asked. "A matter of five metres? Merci, non! I am not
so agile. You flatter me."

The old Michel spread out his two gnarled hands.

"Pas de ma faute. I have orders, Monsieur. It will be my painful duty to
shoot if Monsieur approaches that wall." He turned his strange head on
one side and regarded Ste. Marie with his sharp and beadlike eye. The
smile of apology still distorted his face, and he looked exactly like
the Punchinello in a street show.

Ste. Marie slowly withdrew from his pocket two louis d'or and held them
before him in the palm of his hand. He looked down