Trappist monastery at once, but I am certain he will confirm what I know
already. It is even possible that John Mauprat is a genuine devotee.
Nothing becomes such a character better than certain shades of the
Catholic spirit. The inquisition is the soul of the Church, and the
inquisition should smile on John Mauprat. I firmly believe that he
would give himself up to the sword of justice solely for the pleasure
of compassing your ruin with his own, and that the desire to found a
monastery with your money is a sudden inspiration, the honour of which
belongs entirely to the prior of the Carmelites . . ."

"That is hardly probable, my dear abbe," I said. "Besides, where can
these discussions lead us? Let us act. Let us keep the chevalier in
sight, so that the unclean beast may not come and poison the calm of his
last days. Write to the Trappist superior; I will offer the creature
a pension, and when he comes, let us carefully watch his slightest
movements. My sergeant, Marcasse, is an admirable bloodhound. Let us put
him on the track, and if he can manage to tell us in vulgar speech what
he has seen and heard, we shall soon know everything that is happening
in the province."

Chatting thus, we arrived at the chateau towards the close of day. As
I entered the silent building, I was seized with a fond, childish
uneasiness, such as may come upon a mother when she leaves her babe a
moment. The eternal security which nothing had ever disturbed within the
bounds of the old sacred walls, the decrepitude of the servants, the way
in which the doors always stood open, so that beggars would sometimes
enter the drawing-room without meeting any one and without giving
umbrage--the whole atmosphere of peace and trust and isolation--formed
a strange contrast to the thoughts of strife, and the cares with which
John's return and the prior's threats had filled my mind for some
hours. I quickened my pace, and, seized with an involuntary trembling, I
crossed the billiard-room. At that moment I thought I saw a dark shadow
pass under the windows of the ground floor, glide through the jasmines,
and disappear in the twilight. I threw open the door of the drawing-room
and stood still. There was not a sound, not a movement. I was going
to look for Edmee in her father's room, when I thought I saw something
white moving near the chimney-corner where the chevalier always sat.

"Edmee! Is that you?" I exclaimed.

No one answered. My brow was covered