I did not go on to the village after that, but returned to the house, where I found Madame pacing the garden. She looked up eagerly on hearing my step; and I was mistaken if she was not disappointed--if she had not been expecting someone else. She hid the feeling bravely, however, and met me with a careless word; but she turned to the house more than once while we talked, and she seemed to be all the while on the watch, and uneasy. I was not surprised when Clon’s figure presently appeared in the doorway, and she left me abruptly, and went to him. I only felt more certain than before that there was something strange on foot. What it was, and whether it had to do with M. de Cocheforet, I could not tell. But there it was, and I grew more curious the longer I remained alone. She came back to me presently, looking thoughtful and a trifle downcast. ‘That was Clon, was it not?’ I said, studying her face. ‘Yes,’ she answered. She spoke absently, and did not look at me. ‘How does he talk to you?’ I asked, speaking a trifle curtly. As I intended, my tone roused her. ‘By signs,’ she said. ‘Is he--is he not a little mad?’ I ventured. I wanted to make her talk and forget herself. She looked at me with sudden keenness, then dropped her eyes. ‘You do not like him?’ she said, a note of challenge in her voice. ‘I have noticed that, Monsieur.’ ‘I think he does not like me,’ I replied. ‘He is less trustful than we are,’ she answered naively. ‘It is natural that he should be. He has seen more of the world.’ That silenced me for a moment, but she did not seem to notice it. ‘I was looking for him a little while ago, and I could not find him,’ I said, after a pause. ‘He has been into the village,’ she answered. I longed to pursue the matter further; but though she seemed to entertain no suspicion of me, I dared not run the risk. I tried her, instead, on another tack. ‘Mademoiselle de Cocheforet does not seem very well to-day?’ I said. ‘No?’ she answered carelessly. ‘Well, now you speak of it, I do not think that she is. She is often anxious about--one we love.’ She uttered the last words with a little hesitation, and looked at me quickly when she had spoken them. We were sitting at the moment on a stone seat which had the wall of the house for a back; and, fortunately, I was toying with the branch of a creeping plant that hung over it, so that she could not see more than the side of my face. For I knew that it altered. Over my voice, however, I had more control, and I hastened to answer, ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ as innocently as possible. ‘He is at Bosost, in Spain. You knew that, I conclude?’ she said, with a certain sharpness. And she looked me in the face again very directly. ‘Yes,’ I answered, beginning to tremble. ‘I suppose you have heard, too, that he--that he sometimes crosses the border?’ she continued in a low voice, but with a certain ring of insistence in her tone. ‘Or, if you have not heard it, you guess it?’