He spoke as if to himself: "It has not been touched since then--no. It
was hardly big enough for him, so his legs hung over. Ah, yes, ten
years--Abroad, John Marcey!" Then, as if still musing, he turned to the
girl: "He had no father or mother--no one, of course; so that it wasn't
so bad after all. If you've lived with the tongue in the last hole of the
buckle as you've gone, what matter when you go! C'est egal--it is all the
same."

Her face had become pale as he spoke, but no muscle stirred; only her
eyes filled with a deeper color, and her hand closed tightly on the
door-jamb. "Come in, Pierre," she said, and entered. He followed her. "My
mother is at the Fort," she added, "but she will be back soon."

She placed two chairs not far from the open door. They sat, and Pierre
slowly rolled a cigarette and lighted it.

"How long have you lived here?" he asked presently.

"It is seven years since we came first," she replied. "After that night
they said the place was haunted, and no one would live in it, but when my
father died my mother and I came for three years. Then we went east, and
again came back, and here we have been."

"The shutter?" Pierre asked.

They needed few explanations--their minds were moving with the same
thought.

"I would not have it changed, and of course no one cared to touch it. So