For hours I considered the possible relations of the governor's arrival to mademoiselle's safety and my own, to that of my men and our cause, and to my intention of delivering M. de Varion from prison. But I could arrive at no conclusion, for I knew neither the governor's intentions, nor what information he had concerning me. There were so many probabilities and so many possible combinations of them, that at last I threw the whole matter from my mind, determining to await events. On the way back to the chateau I reproached myself for having wasted so much time in making useless guesses, for when I found myself at the gate it was night, and the moon had risen. I stopped at the entrance and stood still to listen to the voice of Blaise, which rose in the courtyard in the words of a psalm. He sang it with a gentleness the very reverse of the feeling his voice had expressed in the war hymn a few hours earlier. From a sound that came between the words now and then, I knew that he was engaged in one of his favorite occupations, that of polishing his weapons. Pleased to hear him singing in the moonlight, I stood at the gate, lest by entering I might interrupt the psalm. Presently, at the end of the stanza, I heard another voice from the doorway of the chateau. "Ah, Blaise," said Jeannotte, "it is the spirit of your mother that controls you now." He made no answer, nor did he resume his singing. Then I recalled that for the past few days he had not shown his former susceptibility to the maid's charms; he had, indeed, exhibited towards her a kind of disapproving shyness. I had not attached any importance to this. "Why do you not go on singing your psalm?" Jeannotte asked, coming nearer to him. His answer was a strange one. It was spoken with a kind of contemptuous irony and searching interrogation. The words were: "Mademoiselle's boy Pierre has not yet come back to us." "What has that to do with your singing?" said Jeannotte. "We all know it very well. Poor Pierre! To think that he may have been taken by Monsieur de Berquin!" "It is well that he did not know the place of our destination when he went away," said Blaise, in the same insignificant tone, "else M. de Berquin might torture the secret out of him, and carry it to the governor of the province, for M. de Berquin knows now that my master is La Tournoire. It would not be well for the boy, or any one else, to be the means of the governor's learning La Tournoire's hiding-place!" After which words, spoken with a kind of ominous menace, Blaise abruptly left the girl, and strode around the corner of the chateau. The maid stood still a few moments, then went into the chateau. Completely mystified, I crossed the courtyard and called Blaise. "M. de la Chatre is at Clochonne," I said, abruptly, as soon as he was before me. He stood still, returning my gaze. Presently he said: "Do you think that he has learned where you are?" "Through M. de Berquin?" I said, as if completing his question.