of a reproach from her if she had heard my words,
but more freely than I might have spoken with a man who was as yet my
inferior and not my friend, as he became later. I could not say exactly
how much I confessed to him of my sorrows and hopes and anxieties; but
those confidences had a disastrous effect, as you will soon see.

We fell asleep while we were talking, with Blaireau at his master's
feet, the hidalgo's sword across his knees near the dog, the light
between us, my pistols ready to hand, my hunting-knife under my pillow,
and the bolts shot. Nothing disturbed our repose. When the sun awakened
us the cocks were crowing merrily in the courtyard, and the labourers
were cracking their rustic jokes as they yoked the oxen under our
windows.

"All the same there is something at the bottom of it."

Such was Marcasse's first remark as he opened his eyes, and took up the
conversation where he had dropped it the night before.

"Did you see or hear anything during the night?" I asked.

"Nothing at all," he replied. "All the same, Blaireau has been disturbed
in his sleep; for my sword has fallen down; and then, we found no
explanation of what happened here."

"Let who will explain it," I answered. "I shall certainly not trouble
myself."

"Wrong, wrong; you are wrong!"

"That may be, my good sergeant; but I do not like this room at all, and
it seems to me so ugly by daylight, that I feel that I must get far away
from it, and breathe some pure air."

"Well, I will go with you; but I shall return. I do not want to leave
this to chance. I know what John Mauprat is capable of; you don't."

"I do not wish to know; and if there is any danger here for myself or my
friends, I do not wish you to return."

Marcasse shook his head and said nothing. We went round the farm once
more before departing. Marcasse was very much struck with a certain
incident to which I should have paid but little attention. The farmer
wished to introduce me to his wife, but she could not be persuaded to
see me, and went and hid herself in the hemp-field. I attributed this to
the shyness of youth.

"Fine youth, my word!" said Marcasse; "youth like mine fifty years old
and more! There is something beneath it, something beneath, I tell you."

"What the devil can there be?"

"Hum! She was very friendly with John Mauprat in her day. She found
his crooked legs to her liking. I know about it; yes, I know many other
things, too; many things--you may