ds."

"And still she loves you?"

"I am sure of it."

"You were not mistaken in Monsieur Lacheneur's tone when he said to
you: 'Go, you little wretch! do you wish to render all my precautions
useless?'"

"No."

M. d'Escorval sat for a moment in silence.

"This passes comprehension," he murmured at last. And so low that his
son could not hear him, he added: "I will see Lacheneur to-morrow; this
mystery must be explained."

CHAPTER XVI

The cottage where M. Lacheneur had taken refuge was situated on a hill
overlooking the water.

It was, as he had said, a small and humble dwelling, but it was rather
less miserable than the abodes of most of the peasants of the district.

It was only one story high, but it was divided into three rooms, and the
roof was covered with thatch.

In front was a tiny garden, in which a few fruit-trees, some withered
cabbages, and a vine which covered the cottage to the roof, managed to
find subsistence.

This garden was a mere nothing, but even this slight conquest over
the sterility of the soil had cost Lacheneur's deceased aunt almost
unlimited courage and patience.

For more than twenty years the poor woman had never, for a single day,
failed to throw upon her garden three or four basketfuls of richer soil,
which she was obliged to bring more than half a league.

It had been more than a year since she died; but the little pathway
which her patient feet had worn in the performance of this daily task
was still distinctly visible.

This was the path which M. d'Escorval, faithful to his resolution, took
the following day, in the hope of wresting from Marie-Anne's father the
secret of his inexplicable conduct.

He was so engrossed in his own thoughts that he failed to notice the
overpowering heat as he climbed the rough hill-side in the full glare of
the noonday sun.

When he reached the summit, however, he paused to take breath; and while
wiping the perspiration from his brow, he turned to look back on the
road which he had traversed.

It was the first time he had visited the spot, and he was surprised at
the extent of the landscape which stretched before him.

From this point, which is the most elevated in the surrounding country,
one can survey the entire valley of the Oiselle, and discern, in the
distance, the redoubtable citadel of Montaignac, built upon an almost
inaccessible rock.

This last circumstance, which the baron was afterward doomed to recall
in the