“The thing can be done, certainly; but it is not very easy. Cocoleu has not the sense of a man; but he has all the instincts of a brute. However, I’ll try.”
There was nothing to keep either M. de Chandore or M. Folgat any longer at Boiscoran; hence, after having warned Anthony to watch the seals well, and get a glimpse, if possible, of Jacques’s gun, when the officers should come for the different articles, they left the chateau. It was five o’clock when they drove into town again. Dionysia was waiting for them in the sitting-room. She rose as they entered, looking quite pale, with dry, brilliant eyes.
“What? You are alone here!” said M. de Chandore. “Why have they left you alone?”
“Don’t be angry, grandpapa. I have just prevailed on the marchioness, who was exhausted with fatigue to lie down for an hour or so before dinner.”
“And your aunts?”
“They have gone out, grandpapa. They are probably, by this time at M. Galpin’s.”
M. Folgat started, and said,—
“Oh!”
“But that is foolish in them!” exclaimed the old gentleman.
The young girl closed his lips by a single word. She said,—