"To the state, I have heard, monsieur; to the King; though, it is said, in trust only. Yet, I know not. I cannot say. But I suppose so. Twice annually a monsieur comes from the minister of the King to visit us, and twice, also, I hear, one visits the château. If all has been saved for you, monsieur, during your long absence, you should be very rich." "Rich," he repeated--"rich! very rich! Yes, yes, very rich." Then, turning on the woman suddenly, almost fiercely for him, he asked: "Where--where, do you know--did my wife die? Where did my little child live until she married? If the state, the King, took possession of my property, they would not let them stay here nor at the château." "Madame la Marquise went back to stay with her father after monsieur had gone away. Mademoiselle de Chevagny lived with him also until she married." Then, observing that the old man looked even more feeble and drawn than she had at first noticed, she said: "But, monsieur, do not stay here in this cold hall. Come into the saloon, I beg of you. There is no fire, but I can soon make one. Come, monsieur, come." Slowly leaning on Bertie's arm, he rose at her behest--and now the latter perceived that he weighed more heavily on him than before--and, all together, they went into a fair-sized _salon_, or morning-room, to the left of the corridor; while the woman, preceding them, made haste to open the window shutters and to let a flood of light from the wintry sun pour into the room. It seemed to have been left much as it must have been in those long-past years, when so dreadful a doom had fallen upon that unhappy family--perhaps had scarcely undergone any alteration since those days. Upon the walls there hung several pictures: one, of a man in half armour, bearing a strong resemblance to him who now tottered on Bertie's arm; another, of an elderly woman, of a long anterior date; a third, of a young man in all the bravery of the rich apparel of Louis XIV's date, a young man with bright blue eyes and a joyous smile--De Chevagny himself. Also, there were many chairs, none very comfortable, since, fifty years before this time, comfortable chairs were almost unknown articles; a table or so and a tabouret; also a woman's worktable in a corner by the fireplace with, above it, a painting of a fair young girl with a soft, gentle expression, done in what was, at the period in which it was painted, quite a new style--the style of Antoine Watteau--and much embellished with a rural landscape behind the portrait. With a gasp, a cry of recognition, De Chevagny regarded this portrait in the light of the thin December sun, and then, leaning now so heavily on Bertie's arm as to be almost entirely held up and supported by him, he exclaimed: "See! see! She has come back to me; we have met again! Again, Jeanne, my love, my wife, my dear! O Jeanne, Jeanne, we shall be so happy now!"