came every day."

"Ah, then he came every day! How do you know that?"

"It was my custom to walk to the mill every day--to watch the work on
the flume. It was only four miles away across the fields and through the
woods, making a walk of much charm--especially in the autumn, when
the colours of the foliage are so fine, and the air has a touch of
pensiveness, so that one is induced to reflection."

There was the slightest tinge of impatience in the Judge's response.
"Yes, yes, I understand. You walked to study life and to reflect and to
enjoy your intimacy with nature, but also to see our friend Zoe and her
home. And I do not wonder. She has a charm which makes me sad--for her."

"So I have felt, so I have felt for her, monsieur. When she is gayest,
and when, as it might seem, I am quite happy, talking to her, or
picnicking, or idling on the river, or helping her with her lessons, I
have sadness, I know not why."

The Judge pressed his friend's arm firmly. His voice grew more
insistent. "Now, Maitre Fille, I think I understand the story, but there
are lacunee which you must fill. You say the thing happened three days
ago--now, when will the work be finished?"

"The work will be finished to-morrow, monsieur. Only one workman is
left, and he will be quit of his task to-night."

"So the thing--the comedy or tragedy will come to an end to-morrow?"
remarked the Judge seriously. "How did you find out that the workmen go
tomorrow, maitre?"

"Jean Jacques--he told me yesterday."

"Then it all ends to-morrow," responded the Judge.

The puzzled subordinate stood almost still, and looked at the Judge
in wonder. Why should it all end to-morrow simply because the work was
finished at the flume? At last he spoke.

"It is only twelve miles to Laplatte where George Masson lives, and he
has, besides, another contract near here, but three miles from the Manor
Cartier. Also besides, how can we know what she will do--Jean Jacques'
wife. How can we tell but that she will perhaps go and leave the beloved
Zoe alone!"

"And leave our little philosopher--miller also alone?" remarked the
Judge quizzically, yet with solemnity. M. Fille was agitated; he made a
protesting gesture. "Jean Jacques can find comfort, but the child--ah,
no, it is too terrible! Someone should speak. I tried to do it--to
Madame Carmen, to Jean Jacques; but it was no use. How could I betray
her to him, how could I tell her that I knew her shame!"

The Judge t