“I can vouch for one fact, monsieur le préfet. Last week Mademoiselle Deniseau said: ‘There is a treasure hidden in a field called Faifeu, at Noiselles.’ They dug at the place described and discovered a great slab of stone which blocked the entrance of an underground passage.”
“But, still,” cried the préfet, “you cannot maintain that Saint Radegonde …”
He stopped, thoughtful and questioning. He was profoundly ignorant of the saintly legends of Christian Gaul and of the national antiquities of France. But at school he had studied text-books of history. He was struggling to recall his boyish recollections.
“Saint Radegonde was the mother of Saint Louis?”
M. Lacarelle, who knew more history, only hesitated a moment.
“No,” said he, “the mother of Saint Louis was Blanche of Castille. Saint Radegonde was an earlier queen.”
“Well, she cannot be allowed to perform her conjuring tricks in the county town. And you, my dear Lacarelle, you ought to make her father understand—this Deniseau, I mean to say—that he has nothing to do but to give a good flogging to his daughter and put her under lock and key.”
Lacarelle smoothed his Gallic moustaches.
“Monsieur le préfet, I advise you to go and see this Deniseau girl. She is interesting. She will give you a private sitting quite to yourself.”
“You can’t mean it, Lacarelle! Fancy my going to be instructed by a little hussy that my Government is on the point of collapse!”