Reinette did remember it, though at the time she had laid little or no stress upon it, thinking it a mere idle remark, as her father was naturally changeable. Now she could recall how sick and sad he had looked, and how much he had talked of France and she could see, or thought she could, that had she been willing, he would have gone back so gladly. Surely there could have been nothing in a letter from Christine, which should make him angry or wish to go back. Pierre did not understand English well; it was easy for him to blunder, though he had not done so in the name “Christine Bodine” to whom her father had sent money. Why had he done so, and where was Christine now? Turning to Pierre, she said: “This money agent, Polignie, is still in Paris?” “Yes, miss, I think so.” “And you know his address?” “I know where we went that day your father paid the money, but he may have moved since many times.” “No matter. He must be well known: a letter will find him, and I shall write and ask for Christine Bodine, for I mean to find her if I cross the ocean to do it. She knew mother, and I must know something of her too, for—oh, Pierre, my brain is all in a whirl with what has happened to-day; but I can’t tell you in here, I feel so smothered when I think of it. Let’s go to that ledge of rocks yonder on the hill-side. We must see the sun set from there, and maybe we can see poor papa’s grave.” She put on her hat and preceded Pierre down the stairs and through the dining-room, where she found Mrs. Jerry arranging a very dainty-looking tea-table. “Supper will be ready very soon,” Mrs. Jerry said, suggesting that her young mistress wait till it was served, as the muffins would all be cold. But Reinette was not hungry, she said, and Mrs. Jerry must eat the muffins herself. By and by she would perhaps have some toast and tea in her room; she would tell Mrs. Jerry when she wanted it, and she flashed upon the woman a smile so sweet and winning that it disarmed her at once of the resentment she might otherwise have felt because her nice supper was slighted and she must keep up the kitchen fire in order to have toast and tea whenever it should suit the young lady’s fancy. Meanwhile Reinette went on her way, through the back yard toward the ledge of rocks, when suddenly she heard a pitiful whine, and, turning, saw the dog tugging at his chain to get away. In an instant she was at his side, with her arms round his neck, while she cried: “Look, Pierre, what a noble fellow he is! Why do they keep him tied up? I mean to set him free.” And she was about to do so, when the coachman, who was watching her at a little distance, called out: “Miss Hetherton, you must not do that. He is strange here, and will run home. He has done so twice already.” “Who are you?” Reinette asked, rather haughtily, and he replied: “I am Stevens, and take care of the horses. Maybe you would like to see them; they are real beauties.”