'She was never English. Don't try to bully me. Besides, she evidently knew the country. Otherwise, how could she have found the Sentier des Contrebandiers?—She wasn't from Granjolaye?'
'There's no one at Granjolaye save the Queen herself.'
'Deceiver! Manuela told me last night. She has her little Court, her maids-of-honour. I think my inconnue looked like a maid-of-honour.'
'She has her aunt, old Mademoiselle Henriette, and a couple of German women, countesses or baronesses or something, with unpronounceable names.'
'I can't believe she's German. Still, I suppose there are some Christian Germans. Perhaps....'
'They're both middle-aged. Past fifty, I should think.'
'Oh.—Ah, well, that disposes of them. But how do you know her Majesty hasn't a friend, a guest, staying with her?'
'It's possible, but most unlikely, seeing the close retirement in which she lives. She's never once gone beyond her garden, since she came back there, three, four, years ago; nor received any visitors. Personne—not the Bishop of Bayonne nor the Sous-Préfet, not even feu Monsieur le Comte, though they all called, as a matter of civility. She has her private chaplain. If a guest had arrived at Granjolaye, the whole country would know it and talk of it.'
'Oh, I see what you're trying to insinuate,' cried Paul. 'You're trying to insinuate that she came from Château Yroulte.' That was the next nearest country-house.
'Nothing of the sort,' said André. 'Château Yroulte has been shut up and uninhabited these two years—ever since the death of old Monsieur Raoul. It was bought by a Spanish Jew; but he's never lived in it and never let it.'