"_Minorites_!" the peasant woman said at last.

"Ah! she is right. The house looks as though it might once have been a
Minorite convent," he went on.

Again they plied the peasant woman with questions, but, like a wayward
child, she colored up, fidgeted with her sabot, twisted the rope by
which she held the cow that had fallen to grazing again, stared at the
sportsmen, and scrutinized every article of clothing upon them; she
gibbered, grunted, and clucked, but no articulate word did she utter.

"Your name?" asked Philip, fixing her with his eyes as if he were
trying to bewitch the woman.

"Genevieve," she answered, with an empty laugh.

"The cow is the most intelligent creature we have seen so far,"
exclaimed the magistrate. "I shall fire a shot, that ought to bring
somebody out."

D'Albon had just taken up his rifle when the Colonel put out a hand to
stop him, and pointed out the mysterious woman who had aroused such
lively curiosity in them. She seemed to be absorbed in deep thought,
as she went along a green alley some little distance away, so slowly
that the friends had time to take a good look at her. She wore a
threadbare black satin gown, her long hair curled thickly over her
forehead, and fell like a shawl about her shoulders below her waist.
Doubtless she was accustomed to the dishevelment of her locks, for she
seldom put back the hair on either side of her brows; but when she did