"That I hain't, and I am open to wager that she has not gone out, otherwise her shutters would not be open, d'ye see."
"By all that is blue, that is true enough," remarked Pitou. "Heavens, I hope nothing unfortunate has happened to my poor aunt."
"I should not wonder," said Mother Fagot.
"It is more than possible, it is probable," said Farolet, sententiously.
"To tell the truth, she was not over-tender to me," went on Pitou; "but I do not want harm to befall her for all that. How are we going to find out the state of things?"
"That is not a puzzle," suggested a third neighbor, joining in; "send for Rigolot, the locksmith."
"If it is to open the door, he is not wanted," said Pitou; "I know a little trick of prying the bolt with a knife."
"Well, go ahead, my lad," said Farolet; "we are all witnesses that you picked the lock with the best intentions and your pocket-knife."
Pitou had taken out his knife, and in the presence of a dozen persons, attracted by the occurrence, he slipped back the bolt with a dexterity proving that he had used this means of opening the way more than once in his youth.
The door was open, but the interior was plunged into complete darkness. As the daylight gradually penetrated and was diffused, they could descry the form of the old girl on her bed.