His glance traveled to Marie. I saw his shriveled lips curl; his expression was ominous of an unfortunate remark. "Good-by!" said I significantly. Jean had some wits. He spared me the remark, but not the sly leer that had been made to accompany it. He clapped his heels to his horse's side and trotted off in the direction from which he had come. So that he could swear he had been to Avranches, he was satisfied! Marie Delhasse turned to me, asking haughtily: "What is the meaning of this? What do you know of the Duke or Duchess of Saint-Maclou?" "I might return your question," said I, looking her in the face. "Will you answer it?" she said, flushing red. "No, Mlle. Delhasse, I will not," said I. "What is the meaning of this 'absence' of the Duchess of Saint-Maclou which that man talks about so meaningly?" Then I said, speaking low and slow: "Who are the friends whom you are on your way to visit?" "Who are you?" she cried. "What do you know about it? What concern is it of yours?" There was no indolence or lack of animation in her manner now. She questioned me with imperious indignation. "I will answer not a single word," said I. "But--you asked me last night what I had heard of you." "Well?" she said, and shut her lips tightly on the word. I held my peace; and in a moment she went on passionately: "Who would have guessed that you would insult me? Is it your habit to insult women?" "Not mine only, it seems," said I, meeting her glance boldly. "What do you mean, sir?" "Had you, then, an invitation from Mme. de Saint-Maclou?" She drew back as if I had struck her. And I felt as though I had struck her. She looked at me for a moment with parted lips; then, without a word or a sign, she turned and walked slowly away in the direction of the hotel. And I, glad to have something else to occupy my thoughts, started at a brisk pace along the foot-path that runs down the hill and meets the road which would lead me to the convent, for I had a thing or two to say to the duchess. And yet it was not of the duchess only that I thought as I went. There were also in my mind the indignant pride with which Marie Delhasse had questioned me, and the shrinking shame in her eyes at that counter-question of mine. The Duke of Saint-Maclou's invitation seemed to bring as much disquiet to one of his guests as it had to his wife herself. But one thing struck me, and I found a sort of comfort in it: she had thought, it seemed, that the duchess was to be at home. "Pah!" I cried suddenly to myself. "If she weren't pretty, you'd say that made it worse!" And I went on in a bad temper. CHAPTER VII. Heard through the Door.