He jumped up:
"Isn't it Thomery?" cried he, intensely excited. "Are you not confounding Thomas with Thomery?"
Elizabeth, taken aback, confused, tried hard to remember: she threshed her memory with knitted brows.
"It may be so," she declared. "I see quite clearly the first letters of the word—Thom ... written in a large hand,... then the rest is indistinct ... but I have the impression that the end of the word is longer than the last syllable of Thomas."
"Perhaps you are right!"
Fandor was no longer listening to her. He had left the rustic bench, and without paying any attention to Elizabeth, he began walking up and down the shady path, talking to himself in a low tone, as was his habit when he wished to reduce his thoughts to order.
"Thomas—that is Thomery; Jacques Dollon, the Baroness de Vibray, Barbey-Nanteuil, lawyer Gérin—but they are all the victims of the mysterious band that plots and plans in the shade!... It is incomprehensible—but we shall find a way to get to the bottom of it all!"
Fandor returned to Elizabeth.
"We shall get to the bottom of these mysteries," cried he, with so triumphant an air, his face shining with joy, that Elizabeth, in spite of her torturing anxieties, could not help smiling.
They were alone in these green and flowery spaces. A great peace was all about them. The birds were singing, the breeze lightly stirred the trees and bushes with caressing breaths.... Fandor gazed tenderly at Elizabeth, very tenderly.... The young girl smiled tremulously, as she met this glance of lover-like tenderness.