gnition. The
mill belonged to the Manoir du Resnel, and its respectable rentiers
were, he knew, humble friends of la petite Madelaine; so, in common
kindness, he could do no otherwise than linger a moment, to make
inquiries for _her_ welfare, and that of her fair cousin, and their
respective families. It may be supposed that Walter's latent motive for
so general, as well as particular an inquiry, was to gain from the reply
something like a glance at the Carte du Pays he was about to enter--not
without a degree of nervous trepidation, with the causelessness of which
he reproached himself in vain, though he had resisted the temptation
of putting one question to the Seldons, who might have drawn from it
inferences of misgivings on his part, the existence of which he was far
from acknowledging even to his own heart.

"Mademoiselle Madelaine was at the Chateau that evening," the dame
informed him--"and there was no other company, for M. le Marquis left
it for Paris three days ago."--Walter drew breath more freely at
_that_ article of intelligence.--"Some people had thought M. le Marquis
would carry off Mademoiselle after all"--(Walter bit his lip);--"but
now Monsieur was returned, doubtless"--and a look and simper of
vast knowingness supplied the conclusion of the sentence. "Au
reste--Mademoiselle was well, and as beautiful as ever; but for 'cette
chere petite,' [meaning la petite Madelaine],--she was sadly changed of
late, though she did not complain of illness--_she never_ complained,
though everybody knew her home was none of the happiest, and (for what
cause the good dame knew not) she was not so much as formerly at St
Hilaire."

Walter was really concerned at the bonne femme's account of his little
friend, but at that moment he could spare but a passing thought to any
subject save one; and having gleaned all the intelligence he was likely
to obtain respecting it, he cut short the colloquy with a hasty "Bon
soir," and bounded on his way with such impetuous speed, that the
entrance-gate of St Hilaire was still vibrating with the swing with
which it had closed behind him, when he was half through the avenue, and
just at one of its side openings into a little grove, or labyrinth, in
which was a building, called Le Pavillon de Diane. He stopped to gaze
for a moment at the gleam of its white walls, discernible through an
opening in the thicket, for the sight was associated with many "blissful
memories." But the present _was