"Nobody went near her. No one told her, except the good Lord Himself. Doubtless He sent an angel to tell her. Doubtless the angel helped her to the belfry and gave her strength to sound the alarm. She could not have done it otherwise. She was given the power of walking, which for fifteen years has been withheld from her. God knew how we need you, Madame, and it was His will to draw up my darling into Heaven after she had saved you. I try to be resigned. But oh, if only I could have sounded the alarm and not her." "And yet, Marie," said Adrienne slowly, "perhaps you would have refused to do it. You would have thought it was her sick fancy; you would not have liked to take such an extreme step without more proof of it being really necessary. And now let me tell you. Just as the bell ceased tolling, when we were all aroused, I looked out of the window and saw Agatha distinctly upon the lawn. She was warning me and pointing to the room where the fire had commenced to take hold." "Did you see her, Madame? Then it must have been as she was dying that she came. How did she look? Oh, if only I had seen her!" "Just as she always looks—sweet and serene." "Oh, she was so fond of you! The Count and you were always in her thoughts and prayers." "We both owe the happiness of our souls to her," said Adrienne, wiping away her tears. "Marie, we won't be so selfish as to keep on mourning for her. Think of her joy and gladness! She will never suffer any more, never have nights of pain and weary sleepless days. We must rejoice for her, if we can't for ourselves." Then Marie began to talk about the village. The four dismissed farm labourers and Monsieur Dragominsk were considered responsible for the fire, but they had all disappeared, and the police could not trace them. "My little Agatha has not died in vain," Marie said. "Our village was getting red hot with revolt and revolution. And now they seem softened and repentant. I asked André Gaugy, who had been imbibing all Monsieur Dragominsk's poisonous words, how the poor would get on without our family at the Château, who would look after us and tide us over our bad times, and I asked him if he thought a clever thinking man would have knocked under to a Russian ne'er-do-well, who was befriended out of charity by our merciful Count, and after eating of his salt and receiving kindness from his wife and himself, returned their benevolence by setting fire to their house and shooting the Countess. "Andre hadn't a word to say except: 'Oh, he had a persuasive tongue, that man; but I never thought he was murderous, never! And he has killed our little Saint! May Heaven keep him off my path! For I dare not trust myself with him!'