"Did he give you no sign or token with this child," asked the duke, "by which one may trace her family and history? Did he tell you nothing of her parents?"
"He said he was not her father," replied Jean Charost, gravely; "but that was all the information he afforded. He gave me this ring, too," continued the young man, producing one, "and a purse of gold pieces to pay for her nourishment."
The duke took the ring and examined it carefully; but it was merely a plain gold circle without any distinctive mark. Nevertheless, Jean Charost thought his master's hand shook a little as he held the ring, and the duchess, who was looking over her husband's shoulder, said, "It is a strange story. Pray, tell me, Monsieur de Brecy, was this gentleman the same who spoke to you at the inn-door upon the road?"
"The same, madam," replied Jean Charost.
"Who was he? Did you ever see him before?" asked the duke, turning toward his wife with an eager look.
"Never," answered the duchess; "but he was a very singular and distinguished-looking man. He was a gentleman assuredly, and I should think a soldier; for he had a deep scar upon the forehead which cut straight through the right eyebrow."
The duke returned the ring to Jean Charost in silence; but the moment after he turned so deadly pale that the duchess exclaimed, "You are ill, my lord. You have exerted yourself too much to-day. You forget your late sickness, and how weak you are."
"No, no," replied the duke. "I feel somewhat faint: it will pass by in a moment. Let us go into the picture-gallery. I will sit down there in the sunshine."
Without reply, the duchess put her arm through his, and led him onward to the gallery, making a sign for Jean Charost to follow; and the duke, seating himself in a large chair, gazed over the walls, still marked by a lighter color here and there where a picture had lately hung.
"Those walls must be cleaned," he said, at length; "though I doubt if the traces can be obliterated."