strength to resist a constant temptation to
confess everything.

But to-day the sight of Louis decided her to relieve her mind. She
thought there could be no danger in confiding in Gaston's brother. Alas
for woman's tongue!

The sale was finally concluded. It was agreed that Fougeroux should give
five thousand two hundred and eighty francs in cash for the chateau, and
land attached; and Joseph was to have the old furniture.

The marquis and the new owner of the chateau shook hands, and noisily
called out the essential word:

"Agreed!"

Fougeroux went himself to get the "bargain bottle" of old wine.

The occasion was favorable to Mihonne; she walked quickly over to where
the marquis stood, and said in a nervous whisper:

"M. the marquis, I must speak with you apart."

"What can you want to tell me, my good woman?"

"It is a secret of life and death. This evening, at dusk, meet me in the
walnut wood, and I will tell you everything."

Hearing her husband's approaching step, she darted back to her corner by
the fire.

Fougeroux filled the glasses, and drank to the health of Clameran.

As they returned to the boat, Louis tried to think what could be the
object of this singular rendezvous.

"Joseph, what the deuce can that old witch want with me?" he said
musingly.

"Who can tell? She used to be in the service of a lady who was very
intimate with M. Gaston; so my father used to say. If I were in your
place I would go and see what she wanted, monsieur. You can dine with
me, and, after dinner, Pilorel will row you over."

Curiosity decided Louis to go, about seven o'clock, to the walnut wood,
where he found Mihonne impatiently awaiting him.

"Ah, here you are, at last, M. the marquis," she said, in a tone of
relief. "I was afraid you would disappoint me."

"Yes, here I am, my good woman, to listen to what you have to say."

"I have many things to say. But first tell me some news of your
brother."

Louis regretted having come, supposing from this request that the old
woman was childish, and might bother him for hours with her senseless
gabble.

"You know well enough that my poor brother was drowned in the Rhone."

"Good heavens!" cried Mihonne, "are you ignorant, then, of his escape?
Yes, he did what has never been done before; he swam across the swollen
Rhone. The next day Mlle. Valentine went to Clameran to tell the news;
but St. Jean prevented her from seeing you. Afterward I carried a letter
from