He led her into the adjoining _talon_, and closed the door of communication, but instead of leaving him, as he anticipated, she walked to the window and looked out at the fresh sweet morning, at the lights that were flooding the yellow stone of the Cathedral. It was all very solemn and tranquil as yet, although the town was just wakening to life. There was nothing harsh, nothing that seemed to jar upon the quiet repose of the figure that indeed should never more be vexed by earth's discordant din. Therese stayed there, and looked out for some minutes. It may be that she was gaining courage to speak, for when she turned round her voice was a little tremulous. "Before I go, will you, who have been so good a friend to us, tell me whether my poor uncle spoke of--of Fabien, his nephew?" "M. Fabien Saint-Martin? But certainly. He spoke much of him." "Ah!" "Permit me in my turn, mademoiselle, to ask from you whether you will be able to give us any information as to where Monsieur Saint-Martin is to be found?" "You do not know? Surely he said!" "On the contrary, he refused to answer, when we questioned him. I had fears, I confess, but yet I hoped you would have been able to enlighten us." "But I cannot, I cannot! That was the secret he kept from me. Oh, monsieur, he has not carried it to the grave!" She was more moved than she had been yet. She turned impatiently from the light, not crying, but with eyes full of trouble. M. Deshoulieres, who did not understand her suppressed emotion, thought it was the result of the scene she had gone through. She looked at him as if he must know why these words of his were so terrible to her, but he did not know. He put her down as tired and sad, and therefore fanciful. "Go and rest yourself," he said decidedly. "You may be sure we shall soon learn all we want." "You do not know him," she said. "He was so--inflexible," the word was spoken after a pause, as though a remembrance of the still face on the pillow prevented her from using a harsher one. "Poor Fabien! He went away partly in a rage, partly in disgrace. I think it was to America, but even that I scarcely know. My uncle would tell no one--me least of all," she added under her breath, so that the doctor did not hear. "How long ago?" "Two years." Seeing that she did not move, M. Deshoulieres, in the flush of annoyance at his own position, could not avoid alluding to it. "By a strange and a most undesirable arrangement, I am to act as trustee for the property, until it can be made over to M. Saint-Martin. It will be necessary that Monsieur Roulleau and I go without delay to Chateau Ardron. There you may be sure we shall hear some tidings." Therese shook her head despairingly. "If he told you nothing himself, you will not hear of my cousin at Ardron."