CHAPTER X.


THUS FAR.

"There are some occasions on which a man must sell half his secret
in order to conceal the rest."


"There is some one moving among the oleanders down by the river," said
the count, coming quickly into the room where Lory de Vasselot was
sitting, one morning some days after his unexpected arrival at the
chateau.

The old man was cool enough, but he closed the window that led to the
small terrace where he cultivated his carnations, with that haste which
indicates a recognition of undeniable danger, coupled with no feeling of
fear.

"I know every branch in the valley," he said, "every twig, every leaf,
every shadow. There is some one there."

Lory rose, and laid aside the pen with which he was writing for an
extended leave of absence. In four days these two had, as one of them had
predicted, grown accustomed to each other. And the line between custom
and necessity is a fine drawn one.

"Show me," he said, going towards the window.

"Ah!" murmured the count, jerking his head. "You will hardly perceive it