"Oh, yes; he has done very well by you. He loves you, although he is not caressing, nor does he say much; and I am very sure that he has the greatest interest in you. It seems that he does not intend himself to marry, although he is still young. He is in easy circumstances,--more so than he wishes it to appear." "Do you believe that, Marguerite?" "Ah, hush! If he knew that I had said that, and that I had sometimes seen him counting gold, he would send me away for it." "You have seen him counting gold?" "I did not say that to you, mademoiselle. No, no; I have seen nothing. Ah, mon Dieu! what a gossip I am! I had much better go and attend to my moving." "I will go with you, dear nurse." "Come then, if you like, Blanche." Blanche followed Marguerite as she went up, and hastened to carry the furniture and clothing of the old servant to the opposite room. In vain Marguerite cried to her,-- "Slowly, mademoiselle; don't carry anything until I have sprinkled it with holy water." Blanche, to spare Marguerite fatigue, had very soon finished the moving. "You will be better here," said Blanche; "this room is more convenient, larger." "I shall find it pretty sad," said Marguerite, casting fearful glances around her. "That large alcove, those dark hangings, those recesses--Oh, mademoiselle, do see, if you please, if there is anything in that big closet." Blanche ran to open the closet, and, after having looked through it, brought to Marguerite a little book, thick with dust. "That's all I've found, dear nurse," said she, presenting the book to the old woman, who put on her spectacles and said,-- "Let's see a bit what it is." Marguerite succeeded, with no little trouble, in reading, "Conjuring-book of the Sorcerer Odoard, the Famous Tier of Tags." "Ah, mon Dieu!" said Marguerite, letting the book fall; "I am lost if that sorcerer has slept in this room. Misericorde! a tier of--" "What does that mean,--a tier of tags?" "That is to say--that is to say, mademoiselle, a very wicked man, who doesn't love his kind; a man who casts spells to make folks unlucky." "Are there any of those sorcerers now?" "Alas, yes, my dear child; they are always casting spells, for I have met during my life several persons who have been bewitched by them. Let us burn that; let's burn that quick." Marguerite hurried to throw the book of sorceries on to the hearth, where she lit a fire; then she began to pray to her patron saint, and Blanche went down to her work. CHAPTER IV THE CHEVALIER CHAUDOREILLE Blanche and Marguerite had no sooner taken their departure from the back room and returned to their customary avocations, than Touquet hastened to meet a man who had come into the shop, saying to him, in a friendly tone,-- "Come in, come in, my dear Chaudoreille, you've made me wait a deuce of a time and today I have something really important to say to you."