"Maybe they didn't bring the baby from out West," suggested Carol, "but brought him over from France with them. Maybe he isn't a Durant at all." "That's possible, too," said the Imp, "but, after all, it doesn't make any difference where he came from, does it, if Louis is what we think he is?" "But who is this 'Monsieur,' and what has _he_ to do with the whole thing?" suddenly cried Carol. "That," admitted the Imp, "is what I can't figure out. I'm sure he must be some relative. They say there are descendants of the Bourbons still living. It wouldn't be strange if he wanted to hunt up a long-lost relative, but why he should make such a secret of it is beyond me." "Bobs," cried Sue, suddenly going off at a tangent, "have you any idea about those two other pictures in Monsieur's room,--the ones all covered up? I've stayed awake nights trying to guess who on earth they could be, and why he keeps them covered." "Why, of course I don't _know_," laughed the Imp, "but I can make a good guess. I believe they're portraits of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. I can't imagine why he keeps them covered, unless it's to keep Louis or any one else from guessing anything about this affair. Of course they're very well-known portraits, and almost any child would know who they were at first sight. But it's different with the dauphin. Very few people know that picture by sight. That's the only reason I can think of." It seemed such a simple explanation, after they'd heard it, that both girls felt a little chagrined to think that they'd never had the wit to work out this easy problem. But so humble were they now, after the Imp's astounding revelation, that they were willing to admit their inferior wit twenty times over. It was Sue who presently voiced the unspoken thought that was in each mind. "I wonder how Louis will take all this?" she sighed. This was a matter that went beyond their conjecture. How, indeed, _would_ Louis take it? CHAPTER XIII SUSPICIONS May 17, 1914. It may seem a strange thing, but two whole weeks have gone by since the Imp told us what she did, and nothing has happened at all. By "nothing" I mean that no astonishing developments of any kind have occurred. We went out from Carol's barn that day perfectly certain that everything--about Louis, at least--would be changed and strange and upheaved. We lived on a tiptoe of expectation for hours and days, but all has gone on over there just the same as ever. I can't understand it. That morning, about eleven o'clock, Louis came over to tell us that Monsieur was feeling much better, and that we need no longer worry about him. We all gazed at him curiously,--_so_ curiously, I'm afraid, that he noticed it. "What's the matter?" he asked. "You all act as if you were seeing a spook. Is there anything wrong about me anywhere?" "Oh, no!" I hurried to assure him. "We were wondering how Monsieur was getting on."