When Beautrelet, in his turn, emerged from the wood, he was greatly surprised no longer to see the man. He was seeking him with his eyes when, suddenly, he gave a stifled cry and, with a backward spring, made for the line of trees which he had just left. On his right, he had seen a rampart of high walls, flanked, at regular distances, by massive buttresses.
It was there! It was there! Those walls held his father captive! He had found the secret place where Lupin confined his victim.
He dared not quit the shelter which the thick foliage of the wood afforded him. Slowly, almost on all fours, he bore to the right and in this way reached the top of a hillock that rose to the level of the neighboring trees. The walls were taller still. Nevertheless, he perceived the roof of the castle which they surrounded, an old Louis XIII. roof, surmounted by very slender bell-turrets arranged corbel-wise around a higher steeple which ran to a point.
Beautrelet did no more that day. He felt the need to reflect and to prepare his plan of attack without leaving anything to chance. He held Lupin safe; and it was for Beautrelet now to select the hour and the manner of the combat.
He walked away.
Near the bridge, he met two country-girls carrying pails of milk. He asked:
“What is the name of the castle over there, behind the trees?”
“That’s the Château de l’Aiguille, sir.”
He had put his question without attaching any importance to it. The answer took away his breath:
“The Château de l’Aiguille?—Oh!—But in what department are we? The Indre?”