She turned into the room and said, in a calm voice, a few words which brought three or four of her friends to the window; and among them Camors recognized the old man with the violin. The moment was a trying one. He could do nothing but lie still in his leafy retreat--silent and immovable as a statue. The conduct of those at the window went far to reassure him, for their eyes wandered over the gloom with evident uncertainty, convincing him that his presence was only suspected, not discovered. But they exchanged animated observations, to which the hidden Count lent an attentive ear. Suddenly a strong voice-- which he recognized as belonging to him of the violin-rose over them all in the pleasing order: "Loose the dog!" This was sufficient for Camors. He was not a coward; he would not have budged an inch before an enraged tiger; but he would have travelled a hundred miles on foot to avoid the shadow of ridicule. Profiting by the warning and a moment when he seemed unobserved, he slid from the tree, jumped into the next field, and entered the wood at a point somewhat farther down than the spot where he had scaled the hedge. This done, he resumed his walk with the assured tread of a man who had a right to be there. He had gone but a few steps, when he heard behind him the wild barking of the dog, which proved his retreat had been opportune. Some of the peasants he had noticed as he passed before, were still standing at their doors. Stopping before one of them he asked: "My friend, to whom does that large house below there, facing the other road, belong? and whence comes that music?" "You probably know that as well as I," replied the man, stolidly. "Had I known, I should hardly have asked you," said Camors. The peasant did not deign further reply. His wife stood near him; and Camors had remarked that in all classes of society women have more wit and goodhumor than their husbands. Therefore he turned to her and said: "You see, my good woman, I am a stranger here. To whom does that house belong? Probably to Monsieur des Rameures?" "No, no," replied the woman, "Monsieur des Rameures lives much farther on." "Ah! Then who lives here?" "Why, Monsieur de Tecle, of course!" "Ah, Monsieur de Tecle! But tell me, he does not live alone? There is a lady who sings--his wife?--his sister? Who is she?" "Ah, that is his daughter-in-law, Madame de Tecle Madame Elise, who--"