“Yes: we will take the train from there. It will scarcely take half an hour to drive over.” “We shall have spent only a little time in this part of the country,” I remarked. “Enough, I hope--enough for me to find what I am looking for.” I thought of the perfume of the Lady in Black, but I kept silence. Had he not said that he was going to tell me everything? He led me out to the jetty. The wind was still blowing a gale, and we were almost taken off our feet. Rouletabille stood for an instant as if lost in thought, closing his eyes as if in a dream. “It was here,” he said, “that I last saw her.” He looked down at the stone bench beside which we were standing. “We were sitting there. She held me to her heart. I was a very little fellow, even for nine years old. She told me to stay there--on this bench--and then she went away, and I never saw her again. It was night--a soft summer evening--the evening of the distribution of prizes. She had not assisted at the distribution, but I knew that she would come that night--that night full of stars and so clear that I hoped every moment that I would be able to distinguish her face. But she covered it with her veil and breathed a heavy sigh. And then she went away. And I have never seen her since.” “And you, my friend?” “I?” “Yes, what happened to you? Did you sit on the bench for very long?” “I would have--but the coachman came to look for me and I went in.” “Where?” “Into the school.” “Is there a boarding school at Trepot?” “No, but there is one at Eu--I went to the school at Eu.” He motioned me to follow him. “We will go there,” he said. “I can’t talk here. There is too much of a storm.” * * * * * In another half hour we were at Eu. At the foot of the Rue des Marroniers our carriage rolled over the pavements of the big, cold, empty place, as the coachman announced his arrival by cracking his whip, filling the dead town with the noise of the snapping leather. Soon we heard the sound of a bell--that of the school, Rouletabille told me--and then everything was quiet again. We alighted and the horse and carriage stood motionless upon the street. The driver had gone into a saloon. We entered the cool shades of a high Gothic church which faced upon the square. Rouletabille cast a glance at the castle--a red brick structure, crowned with an immense Louis XIII roof--a mournful facade which seemed to weep over the glory of departed princes. The young reporter gazed sorrowfully at the square battlements of the City Hall, which extended toward us the hostile lance of its soiled and weather-beaten flag; at the Cafe de Paris; at the silent houses; at the shops and the library. Was it there that the boy had bought those first new books for which the Lady in Black had paid? “Nothing has changed.” An old dog, colorless and shaggy, upon the library steps, stretched himself lazily on his frozen paws.