Evidently he had finished his speech. At the time I did not recognize the significance of his last words. "I am willing to submit to the conditions; only"—a sudden thought struck me—"I don't want to lose all touch with the outside world. Can I go to Vichy—to get papers and so forth? I don't suppose they had papers in Francis First's time."
Monsieur de Carrier smiled. "My dear boy, your father didn't wish to make a prisoner of you. You may go to Vichy if you like. But you must not be away from Rougemont more than twenty-four consecutive hours during the six months you are in residence.
"So far as the papers, etc., are concerned, they will be at the lodge. There is also a telephone, and your own clothes will be kept there. After tonight, nothing of 1935 must come within these halls, but you are free to go to the lodge any time you want to. You can get in touch with me also, if you desire further information. De Lacy, the steward, will look out for you. He knows your father's ways. Now permit me to congratulate you and say au revoir, my young friend."
Monsieur de Carrier got up on his stubby fat legs, made a little bow to me, another to Wrexler which went unheeded.
I too arose. "It will seem strange, but I'll do my best."
"One other thing," Monsieur de Carrier was all of a sudden very grave. "In two weeks' time you will be given a key. It unlocks a casket you will find in the library. In it you will find a message from your father. Adieu, my boy, I wish you well."
With a click of the heels and a friendly smile, he was gone.
I turned to Wrexler. "What do you think of it?" I asked.
Wrexler did not answer. He still stood gazing up at the stairway. The wide, marble steps curved upward. Along the sides, the intricate carving was beautiful in its lacy delicateness.
At that moment, however, I was alarmed for my friend. His attitude was rigid, and his eyes were glassy. I put my hand on his shoulder. "Wrexler!"