“I think I may promise it,” replied the gardener.
Next day, as he had predicted, he was working in the front of the château, and a Deputy whom Valentine showed round said that he was glad something was being done to the flower beds, but that he considered M. Camain rather parsimonious in the matter of labour.
During the next three days, although the priest had returned to his work in the park, something invariably happened to prevent Mme de Trélan from getting speech with him. But on the fourth afternoon she had the curiosity to go and stand by the great fireplace in the sallette. She most distinctly heard gnome-like activities at work below. Evidently the miner was advancing in his task.
Next morning she sought him out soon after he arrived, while he was still in the front of the château.
“Will you come to my room to-day for your coffee, Monsieur l’Aumônier?” she asked.
“Certainly, Madame,” responded the gardener, and he walked beside her wheeling his wheelbarrow. “I wanted to speak with you about a certain arrangement. I shall not be here much longer, I think,” he added significantly.
“You are—advancing?”
“To-morrow or the next day will see the end, I hope. I will certainly come at noon.”
And he came, punctually. He was hot and rather dirty. Valentine let him eat his meal in peace.
“And so it really was true, the tale of the treasure,” she said meditatively, as he drew to a close.