The promise was duly given by Lady Molly and the old Curé, then Mademoiselle resumed more calmly: “And now I want you to look at that clock,” she said abruptly, with seeming irrelevance. “It is an old heirloom which belonged to the former owners of Porhoët, and which I bought along with the house. You will notice that it is one of the most remarkable pieces of mechanism which brain of man has ever devised, for it has this great peculiarity, that it goes for three hundred and sixty-six days consecutively, keeping most perfect time. When the works have all but run down, the weights--which are enormous--release a certain spring, and the great doors of the case open of themselves, thus allowing the clock to be wound up. After that is done, and the doors pushed to again, no one can open them until another three hundred and sixty-six days have gone by--that is to say, not without breaking the case to pieces.” Lady Molly examined the curious old clock with great attention. Vaguely she guessed already what the drift of the old lady’s curious explanations would be. “Two days ago,” continued Mademoiselle, “the clock was open, and Monsieur le Curé wound it up, but before I pushed the doors to again I slipped certain papers into the case--you remember, Monsieur?” “Yes, Mademoiselle, I remember,” responded the old man. “Those papers were my last will and testament, bequeathing all I possess to the parish of Porhoët,” said Miss de Genneville, dryly, “and now the doors of the massive case are closed. No one can get at my will for another three hundred and sixty-four days--no one,” she added with a shrill laugh, “not even my nephew, Amédé de Terhoven.” A silence ensued, only broken by the rustle of Madame la Marquise’s silk dress as she shrugged her shoulders and gave a short, sarcastic chuckle. “My dear,” resumed Mademoiselle, looking straight into Lady Molly’s eager, glowing face, “you must promise me that, three hundred and sixty-four days hence, that is to say on the 20th September next year, you and Monsieur le Curé--or one of you if the other be incapacitated--will be present in this room at this hour when the door of the clock will open. You will then wind up the family heirloom, take out the papers which you will find buried beneath the weights, and hand them over to Maître Vendôme for probate at the earliest opportunity. Monseigneur the Bishop of Caen, the Mayor of this Commune, and the Souspréfet of this Department have all been informed of the contents of my will, and also that it is practically in the keeping of le Curé de Porhoët, who, no doubt, realises what the serious consequences to himself would be if he failed to produce the will at the necessary time.” The poor Curé gasped with terror. “But--but--but----” he stammered meekly, “I may be forcibly prevented from entering the house--I might be ill or----” He shuddered with an unavowable fear, then added more calmly: