Jean was gazing with astonished eyes around him at the gloomy place; at the bins half full of empty bottles; at a couple of boxes that lay in one; but, as his mother spoke, he was leaning towards one corner of the cellar where there seemed to be an opening, which was lightly covered with an old box-lid. "What is that?" he whispered. "What? fool!" exclaimed _ma mere_, going to the lid and lifting it; when the foul wind rushed up, and once more nearly extinguished her candle. "Pah!" she ejaculated; "a way down into the drains, and O, my faith, Jean, but it is the rat's hole; but," she chuckled, "he dare not come, the ferrets and dogs are after him, and he will soon feel their teeth. So, my faith! he had two holes." As she spoke she hastily closed the place once more, listening the while to a musical trickling noise which came whispering up; but, led by some strange impulse, Jean went down upon his knees by the hole, and lifted the lid again, peering down into the black darkness, and listening to the hollow echoing noise, while from apparently a distance came a rushing sound as of a stream through a large sewer, and the young man shuddered as he listened to its strange wild cadence. "Come here, fool!" hissed _ma mere_; "come, hold the candle;" and broken glass crackled beneath her feet as she crossed the cellar towards a box in one of the bins. "Come, Jean, here are the treasures, boy; but O, look here! It is what I thought: here is the painted woman's veil;" and she picked up a small net fall, that had evidently from its torn appearance been snatched hastily from a bonnet. "He must have dragged her down here, Jean; and then--there is that hole!" Mother and son stayed gazing at one another with dilated eyes and parted lips, till, dropping the lid, Jean crawled shuddering away, as an echoing sound came up caused by the falling cover. Mother and son seemed fascinated for a few moments, as they pictured in their own minds the scene that might have taken place in the damp cavernous place where they stood; and then, forgetful of her main object, _ma mere_ crept closer to her son. "But it is very horrible!" she murmured; and as she spoke she wiped her forehead with the scrap of lace in her hand, but only to throw it down with a shudder the next moment. "Do you think he killed her, then?" whispered Jean in a harsh dry voice. "Hush! don't speak, don't talk of it," hissed the old woman, who seemed quite unnerved, and trembled violently. "But where do the drains go to?" whispered Jean. "Into the big river," said _ma mere_; "but come quick, there are the boxes, Jean, and let us get away from here. I hardly breathe. But O, my faith, look there!" Jean Marais gave a cry of horror as he clutched his mother's gown; and then they remained silent for a few moments. The candle had burned out! Volume Three, Chapter XIII. PEACE.