"What would you say to her?"
"I would say to her—I would say to her—that I had seen Célestin Duclos."
"He is quite well—isn't he?"
"As well as you or me—he is a strapping young fellow."
She became silent again, trying to collect her ideas; then slowly:
"Where has the Notre Dame des Vents gone to?"
"Why, just to Marseilles."
She could not repress a start.
"Is that really true?"
"'Tis really true."