"_Bon soir_, M. Arthur," she replied, without looking at me. I heard the impatient whinnying of Black; the farm boy was bringing him from the stable. I was just leaving the room, when Marie, seizing an opportunity when her aunt was not looking, came close to me, and, taking my hand, said, with deep emotion: "I am very angry with you. You do not know how much you have distressed me!" The words were not precisely an avowal; and yet, in spite of the dark, in spite of the storm, I rode back to Serval with a joyful heart. From that evening I began to take hope. That was a week ago. To-morrow is Marie's birthday, a solemn festival, when we are going to inaugurate the mysterious room in the tower. CHAPTER XXIX THE PORTRAIT SERVAL, 10th December, 18--. I can scarcely believe what I have seen to-day. What a strange fate is mine! This morning, as we had agreed, I went to the farm. It was the anniversary of Marie's birth; she had promised to allow me to enter the mysterious chamber that she occupies in one of the towers. It is there that she has had placed the harp and piano which recently arrived from Nantes. "Come and see my retreat," said Marie to me, after breakfast. We went up into the tower with Madame Kerouët. We enter the room; what do I behold? Facing me, in a large gold frame, there stands the portrait of the pirate of Porquerolles! the pilot of Malta! "How did you come by that picture? Do you know who that man is?" I cried out, addressing the two women, who were staring at me in the greatest astonishment. "Why, I painted that portrait myself, and that is M. Belmont," said Marie, with surprise. "That is M. Belmont?" "Certainly; that is my husband. But what is the matter with you, M. Arthur? Why are you so astonished, so overcome?" "Have you ever seen M. Belmont anywhere?" asked Madame Kerouët. I thought I was dreaming, or the victim of some extraordinary resemblance. "The fact is," said I to Madame Kerouët, "I have met M. Belmont somewhere in my travels, or it might have been some one who is remarkably like him; for, on account of the circumstances under which we met, I cannot believe that the person I speak of can be the M. Belmont of this portrait." "There is a very easy way of finding out if your M. Belmont is ours. What are your M. Belmont's teeth like?" said Marie's aunt. "There is no longer the slightest doubt. It is he!" thought I. "His teeth are like no one else's," I said, "they are sharp, and very wide apart." "That is just how they are," said Madame Kerouët, laughing, "and so for fun we call him the ogre." Then it was he! Everything was explained now. In the ballroom at the château, the English ambassador had told me that they were on the track of the pirate, and hoped to capture him. The ball had taken place about the middle of January, just the time that Belmont had returned to Nantes, to hasten his union with Marie.