“Because, some time ago, when master and I went to Paris for a week, he said to me one day, ‘The War and the commune have cost me dear. My cottage has had more than twenty shells, and it has been in turn occupied by Francs-tireurs, Communists and Regulars. The walls are broken; and there is not a piece of furniture uninjured. My architect tells me, that all in all, the repairs will cost me some ten thousand dollars.’”
“What? Repairs? Then he thought of going back there?”
“At that time, sir, master’s marriage had not been settled. Yet”—
“Still that would go to prove that he had at that time met the mysterious lady once more, and that the war had not broken off their relations.”
“That may be.”
“And has he never mentioned the lady again?”
“Never.”
At this moment M. de Chandore’s cough was heard in the hall,—that cough which men affect when they wish to announce their coming. Immediately afterwards he reappeared; and M. Folgat said to him, to show that his presence was no longer inconvenient,—
“Upon my word, sir, I was just on the point of going in search of you, for fear that you felt really unwell.”
“Thank you,” replied the old gentleman, “the fresh air has done me good.”