‘You are the most inconsequent of curés,’ exclaimed Foulon, laughing gently; ‘you ask to see her, and you ask at the same time whether she is here. I neither say that she is here, nor that she is not here. As to your seeing her, that is out of the question. If she be not here, how can I show her to you? If she be here, I do not bring the chambermaids into the courtyard to receive pastoral exhortations.’ Whilst speaking with Lindet, the old gentleman had moved slowly towards the gates of the yard: Lindet had followed him, without observing whither he was conducting him. Thus Foulon had drawn him outside the rails. Now, having finished this last insulting speech, spoken with an air of politeness and cordiality, he suddenly turned on his heel, stepped within, slammed and locked the iron gates of the enclosure, leaving Lindet without. The curé attempted to speak again; but Foulon retired, waving his hand and hat, and bowing courteously. Then he made the circuit of the house, in hopes of finding another door, but was baffled. It is true there was a small door in a high wall, which led into the garden, but it was fastened from within. The terrace was so raised, being built up from the slope, that it could not be reached, and on every other side the château was enclosed by walls and rails. Lindet wasted a few minutes in making the round of the premises, feeling all the while that he should be at a loss what course to pursue, even if he did penetrate once more within. At last he desisted and retired, satisfied that the only person who could claim access to the girl, with any chance of obtaining it, was her father; and Lindet was convinced that he could not be stimulated to make the attempt. Had Lindet accompanied André home to les Hirondelles, instead of rashly going himself in quest of Gabrielle, he would have done her a greater service. When Matthias André returned to les Hirondelles, he found that the water had subsided almost as rapidly as it had risen. The plank-bridge was no longer submerged, and the garden and house were clear. The corn-field presented the appearance of a large pond, but that was because the dyke retained the water; there being no gap in it, there was no drainage. To his amazement, he saw M. Berthier seated at his door. André scowled at him, but deferentially removed his bonnet. ‘Good evening, man!’ said the Intendant, nodding, but not rising from his seat. ‘Your name is Matthias André, is it not?’ ‘Yes, monsieur.’ ‘Ah! your daughter was at the church this afternoon?’ ‘She was, monsieur, and I cannot find her----’ ‘I know, I know,’ interrupted Berthier; ‘I can tell you more about her than you could tell me.’ ‘Monsieur, I heard that you and your honoured father-in-law had removed her from the church, when she fainted during the thunderstorm.’