of that she had it buried with her, was made of ebony and silver; now
in the early days of his stay here, Monsieur Feredia had one of ebony
and silver which I never saw later.--And now, monsieur, do not you say
that I need have no remorse about the Spaniard's fifteen thousand
francs? Are they not really and truly mine?'

"'Certainly.--But have you never tried to question Rosalie?' said I.

"'Oh, to be sure I have, sir. But what is to be done? That girl is
like a wall. She knows something, but it is impossible to make her
talk.'

"After chatting with me for a few minutes, my hostess left me a prey
to vague and sinister thoughts, to romantic curiosity, and a religious
dread, not unlike the deep emotion which comes upon us when we go into
a dark church at night and discern a feeble light glimmering under a
lofty vault--a dim figure glides across--the sweep of a gown or of a
priest's cassock is audible--and we shiver! La Grande Breteche, with
its rank grasses, its shuttered windows, its rusty iron-work, its
locked doors, its deserted rooms, suddenly rose before me in fantastic
vividness. I tried to get into the mysterious dwelling to search out
the heart of this solemn story, this drama which had killed three
persons.

"Rosalie became in my eyes the most interesting being in Vendome. As I
studied her, I detected signs of an inmost thought, in spite of the
blooming health that glowed in her dimpled face. There was in her soul
some element of ruth or of hope; her manner suggested a secret, like
the expression of devout souls who pray in excess, or of a girl who
has killed her child and for ever hears its last cry. Nevertheless,