A dry cough was the curé’s only answer. When the doctor said hotly, that they were departing from the subject on hand, he got up, clasped his hands behind his back, looked M. Deshoulières full in the face, and said—
“Unquestionably this difficulty must have greatly disarranged monsieur. I regret exceedingly to have no information to offer on the matter.”
“Not even a suggestion?” inquired the doctor, after a blank pause.
“Pardon. You may call the police to your aid, or you may insert an appeal in the journals.”
“Both means were expressly forbidden by the will, on such serious conditions for M. Saint-Martin that I do not feel justified in adopting them. To do so would be to reduce his fortune to 40,000 francs.”
“In that case—” the curé concluded with a shrug.
The doctor strode away from the presbytère in great wrath. “Dolts! idiots!” he muttered, swinging along with the great steps little Roulleau found it difficult to follow. “No one can so much as use their eyes and ears in this abominable place. To return to Charville as we came is an absurdity not to be thought of.”
Nevertheless, it was all that remained to be done. They did not reach the Château until the moon had risen, throwing cold lights upon the formal vases on the terrace, the empty basins of the jets-d’eau. The nightingales had ceased, it was all quiet and a little oppressive. The house stood up before them, ugly still when no more than its form could be seen; outside the door old Mathieu and his wife had placed two chairs, where they were sitting waiting for the return of the gentlemen. Monsieur Saint-Martin’s discovery was no desirable matter in their eyes. It was an affair which they thought should be left to arrange itself, and meanwhile Château Ardron was a very comfortable home for their old age. M. Roulleau, meditating upon it, fancied that the information M. Deshoulières requested them to seek for, would not be sought with overmuch eagerness.
“The country is well rid of such vauriens,” grumbled the old woman to him confidentially, as he pulled off the yellow bandana he had tied round his throat for fear of the night air, and made her stand by while he satisfied himself that his bed was dry. “Leave them alone. They will come back only too soon.”
“You forget, Mère Bourdon, you forget,” said the notary, shaking his head mildly, “if M. Saint-Martin were to return, he would take the château into his own hands. There would be gay doings. The whole neighbourhood would benefit.”