"Remember, your uncle found a spectacle-lens in front of the wall in the Yard."
She stopped to think and then shrugged her shoulders:
"A mere coincidence! Why should you connect the two things?"
Bérangère was right and I did not insist. Nevertheless and though she had answered me in a tone of undeniable candour, the incident left me uneasy and suspicious. I would not admit that so animated a conversation could take place between her and a perfect stranger who was simply asking her the way. The man was well set-up and good-looking. I suffered tortures.
That evening Bérangère was silent. It struck me that she had been crying. My uncle, on the contrary, on returning from the Yard, was talkative and cheerful; and I more than once felt that he was on the point of telling me something. Had anything thrown fresh light on his invention?
Next day, he was just as lively:
"Life is very pleasant, at times," he said.
And he left us, rubbing his hands.
Bérangère spent all the early part of the afternoon on a bench in the garden, where I could see her from my room. She sat motionless and thoughtful.
At four o'clock, she came in, walked across the hall of the Lodge and went out by the front door.