"It is you who are deceived, Dumay. Ah! if I could but see my
daughter!" cried the poor woman.

"But whom is it possible for her to love?" asked the notary. "I'll
answer for my Exupere."

"It can't be Gobenheim," said Dumay, "for since the colonel's
departure he has not spent nine hours a week in this house. Besides,
he doesn't even notice Modeste--that five-franc piece of a man! His
uncle Gobenheim-Keller is all the time writing him, 'Get rich enough
to marry a Keller.' With that idea in his mind you may be sure he
doesn't know which sex Modeste belongs to. No other men ever come
here,--for of course I don't count Butscha, poor little fellow; I love
him! He is your Dumay, madame," said the cashier to Madame
Latournelle. "Butscha knows very well that a mere glance at Modeste
would cost him a Breton ducking. Not a soul has any communication with
this house. Madame Latournelle who takes Modeste to church ever since
your--your misfortune, madame, has carefully watched her on the way
and all through the service, and has seen nothing suspicious. In
short, if I must confess the truth, I have myself raked all the paths
about the house every evening for the last month, and found no trace
of footsteps in the morning."

"Rakes are neither costly nor difficult to handle," remarked the
daughter of Germany.

"But the dogs?" cried Dumay.

"Lovers have philters even for dogs," answered Madame Mignon.