"What should I say about his past, Monsieur? What should I know?"

"You should know more than any one else in Chaudiere. The secrets of his
breast might well be bared to you."

She started and crimsoned. Before her eyes there came a mist obscuring
the Seigneur, and for an instant shutting out the world. The secrets of
his breast--what did he mean? Did he know that on Monsieur's breast was
the red scar which . . .

M. Rossignol's voice seemed coming from an infinite distance, and as it
came, the mist slowly passed from her eyes.

"You will know, Mademoiselle Rosalie," he was saying, "that while I
suggested that the secrets of his breast might well be bared to you, I
meant that as an honest lady and faithful postmistress they were not. It
was my awkward joke--a stupid gambolling by an old man who ought to know
better."

She did not answer, and he continued:

"You know that you are trusted. Pray accept my apologies."

She was herself again. "Monsieur," she said quietly; "I know nothing of
his past. I want to know nothing. It does not seem to me that it is my
business. The world is free for a man to come and go in, if he keeps the
law and does no ill--is it not? But, in any case, I know nothing. Since
you have said so much, I shall say this, and betray no 'secrets of his
breast'--that he has received no letter through this office since the day