"Pardon me," replied the rector, saluting Guillaume with more courtesy than he displayed toward Bois-Doré. "Then I can address a letter to him at your residence, monsieur le comte?" "No, monsieur," replied Guillaume, annoyed by this persistence. "He is not at my house to-day." "But if he has gone temporarily only, you expect him to return this evening, or to-morrow at latest, I presume?" "I do not know what day he will return, monsieur; I am not accustomed to question my guests. But come, marquis; they are calling for you in the salon." He led Bois-Doré away toward the De Beuvres, to cut short the interrogatories of the rector, who withdrew with a strange smile and threatening humility. "You were speaking of Monsieur de Villareal," said De Beuvre to the marquis; "I heard you mention his name. How does it happen that we do not see him here? Is he ill?" "He has gone," said Guillaume, who was much embarrassed and disturbed by all these questions before numerous witnesses. "Gone not to return?" inquired Lauriane. "Not to return," replied Bois-Doré firmly. "Well," said she, after a brief pause, "I am very glad of it." "Did you not like him?" said the marquis, offering her his arm, while Guillaume walked by her side. "You will think me very foolish," replied the young woman, "but I will make my confession none the less. I ask your pardon, Monsieur d'Ars, but your friend frightened me." "Frightened you?--That is strange; other people have said the same thing to me about him! How was it that he frightened you, madame?" "He bears a striking resemblance to a portrait at our house, which you probably have never seen--in our little chapel! Have you seen it?" "Yes!" cried Guillaume, as if struck by a sudden thought; "I know what you mean. He did resemble it, on my word!" "He _did_ resemble it! You speak of your friend as if he were dead!" Mario interrupted the conversation. Lauriane, who had already conceived a warm affection for him, chose to take his arm to return in doors. Guillaume and Bois-Doré were left alone for an instant, behind the others. "Ah! cousin," said the young man, "what an extremely unpleasant thing it is to have to conceal a man's death, as if one had reason to blush for some dastardly deed, when, on the contrary----" "For my own part, I should prefer to have no concealment whatsoever," the marquis replied. "It was you who urged me to this deception; but if it is burdensome to you----" "No, no! Your rector seems to have some suspicions. My D'Alvimar made a great show of piety. The cassock would be on his side, and it is too dangerous a game to play in this neighborhood. Let us continue to hold our peace until the story of your brother's cowardly murder has circulated thoroughly, and do you show the proofs of it to everybody, without naming the culprits. Then, when you do name them, everybody will be disposed to condemn them. But tell me, marquis, do you know whether the wretched man's body----"