“And then ... and then,” continued the woman, in a low voice, with bent head, “I have something else to confess.... But I dare not: it’s so shameful.... Listen.... Mme. de la Vaudraye ... well, she put me here to tell her all about you: what you did; if you received any letters; if you talked to gentlemen.... And, in the morning, when I went to do my shopping, I used to go to her ... and tell her what I saw.... Oh, there was nothing wrong to tell, for you are a real saint!... But, all the same.... Forgive me!” The old servant’s confusion was touching. Gilberte gently raised her from the floor and said: “There, we’ll say no more about it. But why is Mme. de la Vaudraye interested in me and my doings?” “Goodness knows! She’s always poking her nose in everywhere and wants to manage everything at Domfront and every one to obey her. And you don’t know how they talk about you here! There’s no lack of gossip, I can tell you!” “About me?” “Yes. They want to know where you come from, who M. Armand was, all sorts of things! Then Mme. de la Vaudraye speechifies about you in her drawing-room. Just think, you’re her tenant; and she’s the only one who has spoken to you!... And then I’ve guessed something else....” “What’s that, Adèle?” “Well, you are rich and a widow; I’m sure she’s after you as a daughter-in-law.... That I’d take my oath on!... Oh, she has her head screwed on her shoulders! A fine lady like you for her penniless beggar of a son, a good-for-nothing who can’t put his hand to anything!...” Gilberte listened to her in utter confusion. Wasn’t it possible to remain hidden and unknown? Were there really people who spied on others, who tried to fathom the mystery of their lives and actually plotted against them? But Adèle said, in a big, fond voice: “Don’t you worry yourself, _ma Bonne Demoiselle_. I’m here and I’ll look after you and look after your money. Oh, the grocer and the butcher and the rest had best mind what they’re about!... You let me be: you won’t be overcharged any more.... And then Bouquetot is there and my son Antoine: they’re decent fellows both ... and fell in love with you at once ... because ... because there’s something different about you ... something that makes people love you ... in spite of themselves ... with all their hearts....” III THE UNKNOWN Every day, when her household duties were done, Gilberte walked in her garden. This was her hour of recreation. But a sweeter hour followed, which she allotted to dreaming.