Why did the Professor suddenly become more restless? Why did he hasten his steps? That is what I was asking myself, when the big pipe fell from his mouth. Having dashed forward to pick it up I could not restrain a look of stupefaction; he had snapped it off sharp with a furious bite. The scene ended with a German word--doubtless an oath. As we returned in the direction of the _château_ we saw running towards us a fat woman who seemed bursting out of her blue apron. She was evidently unused to such athletic exercise and it went against the grain, for it shook her dangerously, and as she trotted along, she kept herself together by means of her arms and hands as if she were pressing some precious, huge and unwieldy burden against her person. At the sight of us, she stopped all of a piece--a thing that seemed almost an impossibility--then she seemed to want to retrace her steps. However, she came on with a guilty look on her kindly face, a look as of a school-girl caught in a fault. She awaited her fate. Lerne scolded her: “Barbe! What are you doing here? You have forgotten. I forbade you to go beyond the paddock. I’ll end by sending you packing, Barbe, after punishing you--you know.” The fat woman was very much afraid. She tried to bridle, made a mouth as if she were going to lay an egg with it and excused herself--she had, from her kitchen, seen the pigeon fall and thought she might brighten up the bill of fare with it. “You always have the same dishes to eat.” “And then,” she added stupidly, “I did not think you were in the garden, I thought you were in the lab....” A brutal slap in the face interrupted her on that syllable--the first syllable of “labyrinth,” as I imagined. “Oh, uncle!” I cried indignantly. “Look here, you! Hold your tongue, or off with you! That’s clear enough, isn’t it?” Barbe was terrified and no longer wept. Her suppressed sobs made her hiccup. She was very pale, and on her cheek the bony hand of Lerne remained printed in red. “Go and take this gentleman’s luggage from the coach-house and put it in the lion-room.” (This room was on the first story of the western wing.) “Won’t you give me my old room, uncle?” “Which was that?” “Which? Why, the one on the ground floor, the yellow room, in the East wing, you know.” “No. I use that one,” he said sharply. “Off with you, Barbe.” The cook decamped as fast as she could. On our right the pond was lying there stagnant. Our silent passage flung its shadow into it, and it looked there like a dream in a lethargy. My astonishment was growing every moment. However, I kept myself from seeming too much surprised at the sight of a new and spacious building of gray stone built against the cliff. It consisted of two blocks separated by a courtyard. A high wall pierced with a carriage-gate, at the moment shut, hid it from one’s eyes, but the clucking of fowls escaped from it, and a dog, having scented us, raised his voice. I flung out a plummet at a venture: