As we were walking towards the chateau-- "Monsieur de Lesperon," said he in a curious tone, "do you know that a rumour of your death is current in the province ?" "I had hoped that such a rumour might get abroad when I disappeared," I answered calmly.
"And you have taken no single step to contradict it ?" "Why should I, since in that rumour may be said to lie my safety ?" "Nevertheless, monsieur, voyons.

Surely you might at least relieve the anxieties the affliction, I might almost say--of those who are mourning you." "Ah!" said I."And who may these be ?" He shrugged his shoulders and pursed his lips in a curiously deprecatory smile.

With a sidelong glance at Mademoiselle-- "Do you need that I name Mademoiselle de Marsac ?" he sneered.
I stood still, my wits busily working, my face impassive under his scrutinizing glance.

In a flash it came to me that this must be the writer of some of the letters Lesperon had given me, the original of the miniature I carried.
As I was silent, I grew suddenly conscious of another pair of eyes observing me, Mademoiselle's.

She remembered what I had said, she may have remembered how I had cried out the wish that I had met her earlier, and she may not have been slow to find an interpretation for my words.