I gave one more look at the grave covered with flowers, half longing to penetrate the depths of the earth and see what the earth had made of the fair creature that had been cast to it; then I walked sadly away. “Do you want to see M. Duval, sir?” said the gardener, who was walking beside me. “Yes.” “Well, I am pretty sure he is not back yet, or he would have been here already.” “You don’t think he has forgotten Marguerite?” “I am not only sure he hasn’t, but I would wager that he wants to change her grave simply in order to have one more look at her.” “Why do you think that?” “The first word he said to me when he came to the cemetery was: ‘How can I see her again?’ That can’t be done unless there is a change of grave, and I told him all about the formalities that have to be attended to in getting it done; for, you see, if you want to move a body from one grave to another you must have it identified, and only the family can give leave for it under the direction of a police inspector. That is why M. Duval has gone to see Mlle. Gautier’s sister, and you may be sure his first visit will be for me.” We had come to the cemetery gate. I thanked the gardener again, putting a few coins into his hand, and made my way to the address he had given me. Armand had not yet returned. I left word for him, begging him to come and see me as soon as he arrived, or to send me word where I could find him. Next day, in the morning, I received a letter from Duval, telling me of his return, and asking me to call on him, as he was so worn out with fatigue that it was impossible for him to go out. Chapter VI I found Armand in bed. On seeing me he held out a burning hand. “You are feverish,” I said to him. “It is nothing, the fatigue of a rapid journey; that is all.” “You have been to see Marguerite’s sister?” “Yes; who told you?” “I knew it. Did you get what you wanted?” “Yes; but who told you of my journey, and of my reason for taking it?” “The gardener of the cemetery.” “You have seen the tomb?” I scarcely dared reply, for the tone in which the words were spoken proved to me that the speaker was still possessed by the emotion which I had witnessed before, and that every time his thoughts or speech travelled back to that mournful subject emotion would still, for a long time to come, prove stronger than his will. I contented myself with a nod of the head. “He has looked after it well?” continued Armand. Two big tears rolled down the cheeks of the sick man, and he turned away his head to hide them from me. I pretended not to see them, and tried to change the conversation. “You have been away three weeks,” I said. Armand passed his hand across his eyes and replied, “Exactly three weeks.” “You had a long journey.” “Oh, I was not travelling all the time. I was ill for a fortnight or I should have returned long ago; but I had scarcely got there when I took this fever, and I was obliged to keep my room.”