“Ah!”

“That is a secret, which, of course, neither master’s father nor his mother knows to this day; and I only know it, because one day master fell down the steps, and dislocated his foot, so that he had to send for me to nurse him.  He may have bought the house under his own name; but he was not known by it there.  He passed for an Englishmen, a Mr. Burnett; and he had an English maid-servant.”

“And the person?”

“Ah, sir!  I not only do not know who she is, but I cannot even guess it, she took such extraordinary precautions!  Now that I mean to tell you every thing, I will confess to you that I had the curiosity to question the English maid.  She told me that she was no farther than I was, that she knew, to be sure, a lady was coming there from time to time; but that she had never seen even the end of her nose.  Master always arranged it so well, that the girl was invariably out on some errand or other when the lady came and when she went away.  While she was in the house, master waited upon her himself.  And when they wanted to walk in the garden, they sent the servant away, on some fool’s errand, to Versailles or to Fontainebleau; and she was mad, I tell you.”

M. Folgat began to twist his mustache, as he was in the habit of doing when he was specially interested.  For a moment, he thought he saw the woman—­that inevitable woman who is always at the bottom of every great event in man’s life; and just then she vanished from his sight; for he tortured his mind in vain to discover a possible if not probable connection between the mysterious visitor in Vine Street and the events that had happened at Valpinson.  He could not see a trace.  Rather discouraged, he asked once more,—­

“After all, my dear Anthony, this great love-affair of your master’s has come to an end?”

“It seems so, sir, since Master Jacques was going to marry Miss Dionysia.”

That reason was perhaps not quite as conclusive as the good old servant imagined; but the young advocate made no remark.

“And when do you think it came to an end?”

“During the war, master and the lady must have been parted; for master did not stay in Paris.  He commanded a volunteer company; and he was even wounded in the head, which procured him the cross.”

“Does he still own the house in Vine Street?”

“I believe so.”

“Why?”

“Because, some time ago, when master and I went to Paris for a week, he said to me one day, ’The War and the commune have cost me dear.  My cottage has had more than twenty shells, and it has been in turn occupied by Francs-tireurs, Communists and Regulars.  The walls are broken; and there is not a piece of furniture uninjured.  My architect tells me, that all in all, the repairs will cost me some ten thousand dollars.’”

“What?  Repairs?  Then he thought of going back there?”

“At that time, sir, master’s marriage had not been settled.  Yet”—­