"I wonder why he does not call?" said Denise, presently, looking down
into the valley, as if she could perhaps see the explanation there.

"It has something to do with the social geography of the district," said
mademoiselle, "which we do not understand. The Cheap Funeral alone knows
it. Half of the country she colours red, the other half black.
Theoretically, we hate a number of persons who reciprocate the feeling
heartily. Practically, we do not know of their existence. I imagine the
Count de Vasselot hates us on the same principle."

"But we are not going to be dictated to by a number of ignorant
peasants," cried Denise, angrily.

"I rather fancy we are."

Denise was standing by the low wall, with her head thrown back. She was
naturally energetic, and had the carriage that usually goes with that
quality.

"Are you sure he is there?" she asked, still looking down at the chateau.

"No, I am not. I have only Maria's word for it."

"Then I am going to the village of Olmeta to find out," said Denise.

And mademoiselle followed her to the house without comment. Indeed, she
seemed willing enough to do that which they had been warned not to do.

On the road that skirts the hill and turns amid groves of chestnut trees,
they met two men, loitering along with no business in hand, who scowled