"No, no," she said. "I told you, the master has gone to the Yard."
"Exactly: he must have come this way!"
"Not at all. Coming from the post-office, he would go straight through the new entrance to the amphitheatre."
"In that case," I said, "all I need do is to go through the garden."
I hurried away, but the little door was locked. And from that moment, though there was nothing to prove my uncle's presence in the Yard, I felt certain that he was there and also felt afraid that my assistance had come too late.
I called. No one answered. The door remained shut.
Then, terrified, I went back to the house and out into the street and ran round the premises on the left, in order to go in by the new entrance.
This turned out to be a tall gate, flanked on either side by a ticket-office and giving access to a large courtyard, in which stood the back of the amphitheatre.
This gate also was closed, by means of a strong chain which my uncle had padlocked behind him.
What was I to do? Remembering how Bérangère and then I myself had climbed over the wall one day, I followed the other side of the Yard, in order to reach the old lamp-post. The same deserted path skirted the same stout plank fence, the corner of which ran into the fields.