The child went. He heard her light feet scampering upstairs, clattering merrily about on the boards overhead. He sat very still. The glow in the east deepened, spreading a lurid glory over the dark velvety stillness of the woods. Crickets sang and curlews cried in the meadow, and the long ghostly hoot of an owl trembled through the motionless air. Joseph de la Marinière leaned his elbows on the table, his chin resting on his hands, and gazed up thus into the wild autumnal sky. "What would become of her!" he said to himself. He was not long alone. Angelot and his dog came lightly up through the shadows, and while the dog strayed off to join his favourites among the dark guards who lay round the house, the young man sat down beside his uncle. Though with a mind full of his own matters, Angelot was sympathetic enough to feel and to wonder at the little uncle's depression. After a word or two on indifferent things--the storm, the marvellous sky--he said to him, "Has anything happened to worry you?" Monsieur Joseph did not answer at once, and this was very unlike him. "It is the thunder, perhaps?" said Angelot, cheerfully. "A tree was struck near us. My mother is spending the evening in church." "And your father?" "He is at Lancilly, playing boston." "Why are you not with him?" "Why should I be? I--I prefer a talk with my dear uncle." "Ah! you ask if anything worries me, Angelot. Three or four things. First--I had a visit this morning from César d'Ombré. He had his breakfast in peace this time, poor fellow." Angelot smiled, rather absently. "What had he to say?" "Nothing special. The time is not quite ripe--I think they realised that the other day." "I hope so," murmured Angelot. "Hope what you please," said his uncle, with sudden irritation. "The time will come in spite of you all, remember. I, for one, shall not long be able to endure this abominable system of spying." "What do you mean?" said Angelot, staring at him. "This is what I mean. The instant d'Ombré was gone--while he was here, in fact--that fellow, the Prefect's jackal, was prowling round the stables and asking questions of Tobie. Some silly excuse--pretended he had lost a strap the other day. Asked which of my friends was here--asked if they often came, if they were generally expected. Suggested that Les Chouettes was well provided with hiding-places, as well for arms as for men. I don't think he made much out of Tobie; he is as solid as an old oak, with a spark of wit in the middle of his thick head. From his own account, he very nearly kicked him off the premises." "What? that man Simon? I don't like him either, but was it not a little dangerous to treat him so? He is more than a gendarme, I think; he is an _agent de police_."