“Of the château,” she said faintly.
“What château?”
“Des Pierrettes, monsieur.”
Crépin, as I, I could see, was beating his brains for some memory connected with the name.
“In Février’s café!” I said suddenly. Should it prove the same, for the third time destiny seemed bringing me into touch with a lady of this history.
“Ah!” he said. “But it is not on my list. In what direction does it lie, girl?”
“Monsieur, two leagues away, off the Libourne road by the lane of the Marron Cornu.”
“And who inhabits it?”
The poor girl looked infinitely distressed.
“It is M. de Lâge and his niece. You will not make me the instrument to harm them, monsieur. They are patriots, I will swear. Monsieur, monsieur!”