“We shall find out, mademoiselle,” declared the solicitor. “It won’t be an easy business, for we have to do with a combination of abnormal circumstances which baffle me a little, I admit. But, after all, it is inconceivable that we should not find out. You have to know, you must know who you are and what name you are entitled to bear. Will you trust your interests to me?” “Yes.” “Well, first of all, you must leave this bundle of securities in my hands: I will give you a receipt for it. I will cash the coupons as they fall due and send you the proceeds when you need money. Where were you going with your mother?” “She was expecting a letter.” “A letter? That is one clue.” “But the letter was addressed to the _pôste restante_; and I don’t know in what name or initials.” “True.... Then what do you intend to do?” “I intend to go somewhere at random. I have heard mother speak of Chartres, Saumer, Domfront. I shall choose one of those towns, the quietest ... no matter where ... as long as I can weep undisturbed.” “Poor child!” murmured Maître Dufornéril. II THE SOLITARY “Of the fortress built, in 1011, by Guillaume de Bellême, on the summit of the rock at Domfront, at 300 feet above the little River Varenne, all that is now left standing is two great strips of wall, flanked by picturesque buttresses and pierced with wide arches, the remains of the ancient keep. Round about are a few traces of ramparts and remnants of underground passages, all arranged in the form of a square and in a perfect state of preservation.” The guide-books, however, for some reason, fail to mention the manor-house built, in the seventeenth century, by Pierre de Donnadieu, Governor of Anjou, on the site and with the materials of the outbuildings of the old fortress. The _logis_, as this sort of dwelling is called in Lower Normandy, is intact and wholly charming. Four slender, tapering turrets grace the corners. An enormous roof, decked with two monumental chimneys, seems to top it with a fool’s cap, too large for its little granite forehead lined with two rows of bricks. The entrance is through the square, but the main front overlooks the precipice and a garden staggers down the steep slope to the river that winds through the pretty Valdes Rochers. Fourteen years earlier, M. and Mme. de la Vaudraye, one of the leading families of the neighborhood, had ruined themselves in unfortunate speculations. M. de la Vaudraye died of grief and shame. His widow, in order to pay for the education of her ten-year-old son, let the manor-house, which formed part of her dowry and which had been in the possession of her family for nearly two hundred years. It was taken, for a time, by one of the garrison officers, but was now once more untenanted.