"One would say that we had an infectious complaint," she said, with a
short laugh.

They went to the house of the Abbe Susini. Even this door was shut.

"The abbe is out," said the old woman, who came in answer to their
summons, and she closed the door again with more speed than politeness.

Denise did not need to ask which was the mayor's house, for a board, with
the word "Mairie" painted upon it (appropriately enough a movable board),
was affixed to a house nearly opposite to the church. As they walked
towards it, a stone, thrown from the far corner of the Place, under the
trees, narrowly missed Denise, and rolled at her feet. Mademoiselle Brun
walked on, but Denise swung round on her heel. There was no one to be
seen, so she had to follow Mademoiselle Brun, after all, in silence. She
was rather pale, but it was anger that lighted her eyes, and not fear.

Almost immediately a volley of stones followed, and a laugh rang out from
beneath the trees. And, strange to say, it was the laugh that at last
frightened Denise, and not the stones; for it was a cruel laugh--the
laugh of a brutal fool, such as one may still hear in a few European
countries when boys are torturing dumb animals.

"Let us hurry," said Denise, hastily. "Let us get to the Mairie."

"Where we shall find the biggest scoundrel of them all, no doubt," added
mademoiselle, who was alert and cool.

But before they reached the Mairie the stones had ceased, and they both
turned at the sound of a horse's feet. It was Colonel Gilbert riding