She shook her head gently, serene again.
“No: to visit the Château de Gueure I had already passed through that ancient door, the key of which was in the lock; and knowing that they were going to make a great search this morning I was on the watch,” she said. “I saw them hunting you from the gate of that garden. You were coming to it. I slipped back and waited.”
“A miracle, I tell you!” he declared. “And here is another. For weeks and months, perhaps for longer, they have searched in that park for a candlestick with seven branches. And to find it in a few minutes in the midst of all that crowd and under the very eyes of our opponents, it was only necessary for me to wish to please you.”
She started and stared at him with amazed eyes:
“What? What are you talking about?... You’ve found it?” she cried.
“The candlestick itself: no—only one of its seven branches. Here it is.”
She almost snatched the bronze metal branch from him and examined it almost feverishly. It was round, fairly strong, slightly bent, and the metal of it was hidden by a thick layer of verdigris. One of its ends, a little blackened, had let into one of its faces a large violet stone, rounded en cabochon.
“Yes,” she murmured, “yes: there is no possible doubt about it. The branch has been sawed off level with the main stem. You’ve no idea how grateful I am to you!”
In a few picturesque sentences he gave her an account of his exploit. She could not get over her astonishment.
“But what gave you the idea? Why that inspiration to demolish the ninth pillar rather than another? Was it mere chance?” she asked.