The sound of our steps crossing the terrace was heard within the château as we returned from our ineffectual search; and on entering the vestibule, the first object on which my eye fell was the form of Father Ferdinand, advancing to meet me. The natural clear brown of his complexion had now given way to a deadly paleness; and I saw by the haggard anxiety of the noble old man's eye, the tremulous eagerness of his lip, and the agitation that pervaded his whole frame, how deep and heartfelt was the interest which he took in the fate of those to whom he was attached.
"Have you found her?" he cried; "have you found her?"
A mournful silence was the only reply; and the Priest, clasping his hand over his eyes, remained for a moment or two apparently in prayer. When the hand was withdrawn, however, it was clear that tears had mingled with his orisons; and turning away from the gaze of the domestics, he took me by the hand and led me towards the library. There, closing the door, he cast himself into a seat, and gave way to a burst of feeling, which certainly did not lower him in my estimation.
"This is, indeed, terrible," he said, when he had somewhat recovered himself. "This is, indeed, most terrible; and even I, who am too well accustomed to witness scenes of death, and crime, and sorrow, am overpowered by this."
"Is Monsieur de Villardin dead, then?" I exclaimed, misunderstanding him. "Is he dead?"
"No, no," replied the Priest, "he is still alive, and likely to live; but I fear me," he added, "is likely to live only to wretchedness and remorse. Tell me, tell me, my son, how did all this happen? for it seems you were the only one present at the time this fatal catastrophe occurred."
To answer his question was more difficult than it would seem at first sight; for it required no small care to avoid mingling the dark suspicions that were in my own mind with the facts that I myself had seen, especially as I perceived that the Priest himself entertained many doubts of the event which had occurred having been purely accidental. All that he could positively know, indeed, must have been obtained from such information as the physician and the domestics had gleaned from the broken account I had given on first returning to the château; but it was evident to me that his own knowledge of foregone facts had led his mind to dark suspicions, for which he now sought, in his conversation with me, either confirmation or disproof. I replied, however, as cautiously as I could, telling him the simple facts as they had happened, but abstaining scrupulously from all remarks. My manner, beyond doubt, was embarrassed, for I would fain have spoken freely with the Priest, and fully believed, even at the time, that I might do so without danger; but I imagined that I had no right to give utterance to the slightest unascertained particular, and therefore evinced a backwardness to explain more than was absolutely necessary, which he instantly remarked.
"Are you deceiving me, my son?" he asked, gravely.
"No, indeed, Father," I answered; "I am telling you the simple truth; but for reasons of my own, you must let me do so without comment, and draw your own deductions from what you yourself know."
"Well, then," he said, after musing a moment, "you say that you were turning back to ask him where his carbine was placed when you saw the accident that occurred. Tell me now, my son, did your never-failing memory and attention abandon you in the present instance; or had you not forgotten, in reality, where he had told you that the weapon was to be found?"