Then she came and sat down by Serge’s side.
‘It is years and years since it all happened. The Paradou belonged to a rich lord, who came and shut himself up in it with a very beautiful lady. The gates of the mansion were kept so tightly closed, and the garden walls were built so very high, that no one ever caught sight even of the lady’s skirts.’
‘Ah! I know,’ Serge interrupted; ‘the lady was never seen again.’
Then, as Albine looked at him in surprise, somewhat annoyed to find that he knew her story already, he added in a low voice, apparently a little astonished himself: ‘You told me the story before, you know.’
She declared that she had never done so; but all at once she seemed to change her mind, and allowed herself to be convinced. However, that did not prevent her from finishing her tale in these words: ‘When the lord went away his hair was quite white. He had all the gates barricaded up, so that no one might get inside and disturb the lady. It was in this room that she died.’
‘In this room!’ cried Serge. ‘You never told me that! Are you quite sure that it was really in this room she died?’
Albine seemed put out. She repeated to him what every one in the neighbourhood knew. The lord had built the pavilion for the reception of this unknown lady, who looked like a princess. The servants employed at the mansion afterwards declared that he spent all his days and nights there. Often, too, they saw him in one of the walks, guiding the tiny feet of the mysterious lady towards the densest coppices. But for all the world they would never have ventured to spy upon the pair, who sometimes scoured the park for weeks together.
‘And it was here she died?’ repeated Serge, who felt touched with sorrow. ‘And you have taken her room; you use her furniture, and you sleep in her bed.’
Albine smiled.
‘Ah! well, you know, I am not timid. Besides, it is so long since it all happened. You said what a delightful room it was.’