"He goes back up the ravine.... He comes to the iron gates of the château."
"But they're locked."
"He has the key. He enters.... It is early in the morning.... No one is up.... He directs his steps to the orangerie.... There's a small room there."
"Yes. The gardener keeps his implements in it."
"The man sets the mattock in a corner, takes off his blouse and hangs it on a nail in the wall."
"But he can't be the gardener!" exclaimed the Countess. "His face? Can you see his face?"
"No ... no.... It remains covered up."
"But his clothes?"
"His clothes?... I can't make them out.... He goes out.... He disappears."
The young girl broke off as if her attention were fixed on some one whose outline was blurred and lost in the shadow like a phantom.