"You were there no longer, Madame," said the mountaineer, standing before her in a respectful attitude.
"But I was not here either."
"True; but Madame might, some day, grow weary of the court; and I knew that sooner or later she would come to Auvergne. Besides, here I worked on Madame's property, and ate of her bread."
"Poor Père Jacques! you also think sometimes of the old days at Pradines?"
"Sometimes!—it seems as if it were but yesterday, Mam'selle, that I carried you in my arms, and ran beside you when you rode Fifine, the black pony, and heard your laugh in the courtyard and your foot in the garden! Ah, Madame, those were the happy times, when the hunt came round, and Monsieur your father, and yourself, and Monsieur the Chevalier de Fon——. Oh, pardon, Madame! pardon!—what have I said!"
And the herdsmen stopped, terrified and remorseful; for at that name the lady had turned deathly white.
"Hush, my good friend," she said, falteringly. "It is nothing." Then, after at brief pause and a rapid glance towards her brother and the priest, "Come nearer, Jacques," she said, in a subdued tone. "One word—Was the body ever discovered?"
"No, Madame."
She shaded her face with her hand, and so remained for some moments without speaking. She then resumed in a low voice:—
"A terrible death, Jacques! He must have fallen down some precipice."