"But do not alarm yourself, Monsieur l'Abbe, I can keep a quiet tongue.

And a political secret--what is it?
It is an amusement for the rich--your politics--but a vice for the poor.

Come, let us go to the chateau, while there is still day, and you can see for yourself whether we are ready for a guest." While she spoke she hastily completed a toilet, which, despite the Abbe's caution, had the appearance of incompleteness, and taking the great key from behind the door, led the way out into the glare of the setting sun.

She unlocked the great gate and threw her weight against it with quick, firm movements like the movements of a man.

Indeed, she was a better man than her companion; of a stronger common sense; with lither limbs and a stouter heart; the best man that France has latterly produced, and, so far as the student of racial degeneration may foretell, will ever produce again--her middle-class woman.
Built close against the flanking tower on the left hand of the courtyard was a low, square house of two stories only.