“I mean the other lady, the wife of Mr. Dunwody.”

“My faith!  Monsieur Dunwody he’ll live h’alone here, h’all tam.”

She affected not to understand him.  “How long since she was here, Eleazar?” she demanded.

“What for you’ll talk like those to me?  I’ll not know nossing, Mademoiselle.  I’ll not even know who is Mademoiselle, or why she’ll been here, me.  I’ll not know for say, whether ‘Madame,’ whether ‘Mademoiselle.’ Mais ’Mademoiselle’—­que je pense.”

She looked about her hastily.  “I’m here against my wish, Eleazar.  I want to get away from here as soon as I can.”

He drew away in sudden fright.  “I’ll not know nossing at all, me,” he reiterated.

“Eleazar, you like money perhaps?”

“Of course, yes. Tout le monde il aime l’argent.”

“Then listen, Eleazar.  Some day we will walk, perhaps.  How far is it to Cape Girardeau, where the French people live?”

“My son Hector he’ll live there wance, on Cap’ Girardeau.  He’ll make the tub, make the cask, make the bar_rel_.  Cap’ Girardeau, oh, perhaps two—­t’ree day.  Me, I walk heem once, maybe so feefty mile, maybe so seexty mile, in wan day, two-t’ree a little more tam, me.  I was more younger then.  But now my son he’ll live on St. Genevieve, French place there, perhaps thirtee mile.  Cap’ Girardeau, seventy-five mile.  You’ll want for go there?” he added cunningly.

“Sometime,” she remarked calmly.  Eleazar was shrewd in his own way.  He strolled off to find his spade.

Before she could resume the conversation Josephine heard behind her in the hall a step, which already she recognized.  Dunwody greeted her at the door, frowning as he saw her sudden shrinking back at sight of him.

“Good morning,” he said.  “You have, I hope, slept well.  Have you and Eleazar here planned any way to escape as yet?” He smiled at her grimly.  Eleazar had shuffled away.

“Not yet.”

“You had not come along so far as details then;” smilingly.

“You intruded too soon.”

“At least you are frank, then!  You will never get away from here excepting on one condition.”

She made no answer, but looked about her slowly.  Her eyes rested upon a little inclosed place where some gray stones stood upright in the grass; the family burial place, not unusual in such proximity to the abode of the living, in that part of the country at the time.

“One might escape by going there!” she pointed.

“They are my own, who sleep there,” he said simply but grimly.  “I wish it might be your choice; but not now; not yet.  We’ve a lot of living to do yet, both of us.”

She caught no note of relenting in his voice.  He looked large and strong, standing there at the entrance to his own home.  At length he turned to her, sweeping out his arm once more in a gesture including the prospect which lay before them.