The suggestion was darkly threatening, and the Abbe replied that Marie must take her time, since it was washing-day. The cottage was built on sloping ground at the gate of the chateau, probably of the stones used for some earlier fortification. That which Marie called the cellar was but half underground, and had an exit to the garden which grew to the edge of the cliff. It was not long before she appeared at the head of the stone steps, a square-built woman with a face that had been sunburnt long ago by work in the vineyards, and eyes looking straight at the world from beneath a square and wrinkled forehead. “Monsieur l'Abbe,” she said, shortly--a salutation and a comment in one; for it conveyed the fact that she saw it was he and perceived that he was in his usual health. “It is news from Monsieur, I suppose,” she added, slowly, turning down her sleeves. “Yes, the Marquis writes that he is on his way to Gemosac and wishes you to prepare the chateau for his return.” The Abbe waved his hand toward the castle gates with an air suggestive of retainers and lackeys, of busy stables and a hundred windows lighted after dark. His round eyes did not meet the direct glance fixed on his face, but wandered from one object to another in the room, finally lighting on the great key of the chateau gate, which hung on a nail behind the door. “Then Monsieur le Marquis is coming into residence,” said Marie, gravely. And by way of reply the Abbe waved his hand a second time toward the castle walls. “And the worst of it is,” he added, timidly, to this silent admission, “that he brings a guest.” He moistened his fat lips and sat smiling in a foolish way at the open door; for he was afraid of all women, and most afraid of Marie. “Ah!” she retorted, shortly. “To sleep in the oubliette, one may suppose. For there is no other bed in the chateau, as you quite well know, Monsieur l'Abbe. It is another of your kings no doubt. Oh! you need not hold up your hands--when Monsieur Albert reads aloud that letter from Monsieur le Marquis, in England, without so much as closing the door of the banquet hall! It is as well that it was no other than I who stood on the stairs outside and heard all.” “But it is wrong to listen behind doors,” protested the Abbe. “Ah, bah!” replied this unregenerate sheep of his flock. “But do not alarm yourself, Monsieur l'Abbe, I can keep a quiet tongue. And a political secret--what is it? It is an amusement for the rich--your politics--but a vice for the poor. Come, let us go to the chateau, while there is still day, and you can see for yourself whether we are ready for a guest.”