ly."

The three men took their hats and sticks; but, when they reached the
hall-door, after a whispered colloquy with Jorance, Morestal said to his
son:

"On second thoughts, it's better that we should go alone. The interview
must remain as secret as possible; and we shall be less easy if there
are three of us...."

"Besides," added the special commissary, "you may just as well keep
Suzanne company: it is her last evening. Good-bye for the present,
children. You can be sure that the two conspirators will be back when
the belfry-clock strikes ten, eh, Morestal?"

They went off, leaving Philippe not a little perplexed.

Suzanne burst out laughing:

"My poor Philippe, you look very uncomfortable. Come, cheer up! I
sha'n't eat you, I promise you!"

"No, I don't expect you will," he said, laughing in his turn. "But, all
the same, it's strange ..."

"All the same, it's strange," she said, completing the sentence, "that
we should take a walk round the garden together, as I asked you. You
will have to make the best of a bad job. Here comes the harmless,
necessary moonlight."

The moon emerged slowly from the great clouds stacked around a
mountain-crest; and its light cast the regular shadows of the yews and
fir-trees on the lawns. The weather was heavy with approaching storms. A
warm breeze wafted the perfumes of plants and grass.

Three times, they followed the outer path, along a hedge and along a
wall. They said nothing; and this silence, which he found it impossible
to break, filled Philippe with remorse. At that moment, he experienced a
feeling of aversion for that capricious and unreasonable little girl,
who had brought about those compromising minutes between them.
Unaccustomed to women and always rather shy in their company, he
suspected her of some mysterious design.

"Let's go over there," said Suzanne, pointing to the middle of the
garden, where the shadows seemed to gather round a thick clump of
shrubs and hornbeams.

They made for the place through an arcade of verdure which brought them
to a short flight of steps. It was a sunk amphitheatre, surrounded by a
stone balustrade, with a small pond in the middle and, opposite, in a
leafy frame, a female statue, with a moonbeam quivering upon it. A musty
smell arose from this old-fashioned spot.

"Venus or Minerva? Corinne perhaps?" said Philippe, joking to conceal
his uneasiness. "I confess I can't quite make out. What is she wearing:
a peplum or an Em