"It is——?" murmured Gabrielle.
The two girls looked at each other.
"Jean Marie, one of the shepherds. He is a good boy, and—and promised to bring warning."
"Warning?"
"Of danger."
They were standing now, the cool evening air blowing in on them, setting stray curls fluttering.
Perhaps it was the snap of autumn chill that sent a shudder through Cécile's slender frame.
"Come," she said, holding out an impulsive hand to her cousin. "Let us go down and see what Madame Maman and the good father are talking about."
Lights were already kindled in the salon below. Madame de Quernais, seated near the fire, was conversing gravely with a little man in the brown habit of a Benedictine.
A little man with a round and kindly face, which reminded one of a russet apple long gathered.