"

"And the driver who was stopped three weeks ago in the Fosse," added
Mademoiselle Reine; "the thieves did not quite kill him, but he is still
in the hospital at Remiremont."

"Oh! that is enough to make one's hair stand on end! This is worse than
the forest of Bondy! Truly, if I knew what direction my friend took this
morning, I would follow him with my pistols."

"Here is Fritz," said Madame Gobillot. "He met a stranger in the woods
who gave him ten sous for telling him the way to Bergenheim. From his
description, it seems that it must be the gentleman you speak of. Tell
us about it, Fritz."

The child related in his Alsatian patois his meeting of the afternoon,
and the artist was convinced that it was Gerfaut he had met.

"He must be wandering in the valley," said he, "dreaming about our play.
But did you not say something about Bergenheim? Is there a village near
here by that name?"

"There is a chateau of that name, Monsieur, and it is about a league
from here as you go up the river."

"And does this chateau happen to belong to the Baron de Bergenheim--a
large, blond, good-looking fellow, with rather reddish moustache?"

"That's the picture of its owner, only that the Baron does not wear
a moustache now, not since he left the service. Do you know him,
Monsieur?"

"Yes, I know him! Speaking of service, I once rendered him one which was
of some account. Is he at the castle?"

"Yes, Monsieur, and his lady also."

"Ah! his wife, too. She was a Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, of Provence.
Is she pretty?"

"Pretty," said Mademoiselle Gobillot, pursing up her lips, "that depends
upon tastes. If a person likes a face as white as a ghost, she is. And,
then, she is so thin! It certainly can not be very difficult to have a
slender waist when one is as thin as that."

"Not everybody can have rosy cheeks and a form like an enchantress,"
said the painter, in a low voice, as he looked at his model in a
seductive manner.

"There are some people who think that Monsieur's sister is prettier than
Madame," observed Madame Gobillot.

"O mother! how can you say that?" exclaimed Reine with a disdainful air.
"Mademoiselle Aline! A child of fifteen! She certainly is not wanting in
color; her hair is such a blond, such a red, rather! It looks as if it
were on fire."

"Do not say anything against red hair, I beg of you," said the artist,
"it is an eminently artistic shade, which is very popular."

"With some it may be so