“I could have wished,” said the cure, regretfully, “that we might have shown him some hospitality in Ville-en-bois; but you did what was very good, Jean.  Yet we did not encounter any stranger along the route.”

“Not possible, monsieur,” replied Jean; “it was four o’clock when he returned on his steps, and it is now after nine.  He would pass the Calvary before six.  After that, Monsieur le Cure, he might take any route which pleased him.”

“That is true, Jean,” he said, mildly; “you have done well.  You may go now.  Where is Monsieur the Vicaire?”

“He sleeps, monsieur, in the guest’s chamber, as usual.”

“Bien!  Good-evening, Jean, and a good-night.”

“Good-night, Monsieur le Cure, and all the company,” said Jean.

“And you also, my child,” continued Monsieur Laurentie, when Jean was gone, “you have great need of rest.  So has this baby, who is very sleepy.”

“I am not sleepy,” protested Minima, “and I am not a baby.”

“You are a baby,” said the cure, laughing, “to make such rejoicing over an old papa like me.  But go now, my children.  There is no danger for you.  Sleep well and have pleasant dreams.”

I slept well, but I had no pleasant dreams, for I did not dream at all.  The cure’s return, and his presence under the same roof, gave me such a sense of security as was favorable to profound, unbroken slumber.  When the chirping of the birds awoke me in the morning, I could not at first believe that the events of the day before were not themselves a dream.  The bell rang for matins at five o’clock now, to give the laborers the cool of the morning for their work in the fields, after they were over.  I could not sleep again, for the coming hours must be full of suspense and agitation to me.  So at the first toll of the deep-toned bell, I dressed myself, and went out into the dewy freshness of the new day.

Matins were ended, and the villagers were scattered about their farms and households, when I noticed Pierre loitering stealthily about the presbytery, as if anxious not to be seen.  He made me a sign as soon as he caught my eye, to follow him out of sight, round the corner of the church.  It was a mysterious sign, and I obeyed it quickly.

“I know a secret, madame,” he said, in a troubled tone, and with an apprehensive air—­“that monsieur who came yesterday has not left the valley.  My father bade me stay in the church, at my work; but I could not, madame, I could not.  Not possible, you know.  I wished to see your enemy again.  I shall have to confess it to Monsieur le Cure, and he will give me a penance, perhaps a very great penance.  But it was not possible to rest tranquil, not at all.  I followed monsieur, your enemy, a la derobee.  He did not go far away.”

“But where is he, then?” I asked, looking down the street, with a thrill of fear.