“It was my custom to walk to the mill every day—to watch the work on the flume. It was only four miles away across the fields and through the woods, making a walk of much charm—especially in the autumn, when the colours of the foliage are so fine, and the air has a touch of pensiveness, so that one is induced to reflection.”
There was the slightest tinge of impatience in the Judge’s response. “Yes, yes, I understand. You walked to study life and to reflect and to enjoy your intimacy with nature, but also to see our friend Zoe and her home. And I do not wonder. She has a charm which makes me sad—for her.”
“So I have felt, so I have felt for her, monsieur. When she is gayest, and when, as it might seem, I am quite happy, talking to her, or picnicking, or idling on the river, or helping her with her lessons, I have sadness, I know not why.”
The Judge pressed his friend’s arm firmly. His voice grew more insistent. “Now, Maitre Fille, I think I understand the story, but there are lacunee which you must fill. You say the thing happened three days ago—now, when will the work be finished?”
“The work will be finished to-morrow, monsieur. Only one workman is left, and he will be quit of his task to-night.”
“So the thing—the comedy or tragedy will come to an end to-morrow?” remarked the Judge seriously. “How did you find out that the workmen go tomorrow, maitre?”
“Jean Jacques—he told me yesterday.”
“Then it all ends to-morrow,” responded the Judge.
The puzzled subordinate stood almost still, and looked at the Judge in wonder. Why should it all end to-morrow simply because the work was finished at the flume? At last he spoke.
“It is only twelve miles to Laplatte where George Masson lives, and he has, besides, another contract near here, but three miles from the Manor Cartier. Also besides, how can we know what she will do—Jean Jacques’ wife. How can we tell but that she will perhaps go and leave the beloved Zoe alone!”