Louise Moreau is well now. The visits of her responsible guardian are resumed. Adroit as a priest can be, PŠre Fran‡ois cannot run down this visitor. Too sly to call in others, too proud to use a hireling, in patience the priest bides his time.
Not a word yet to the fair girl, who goes singing now around the house. A few questions prove to Fran‡ois Ribaut that the girl has no settled memory of her past. He speaks, in her presence, the language of the Spaniard. No sign of understanding. He describes his old home in the hills of Mariposa. The placid child never raises her head from her sewing.
Is he mistaken? No; on her pretty arm, the crucial star still lingers.
"How did you get that mark, my child?" he asks placidly.
"I know not, mon pŠre; it has been there since I can remember."
The girl drops her eyes. She knows there is a break in her history. The earliest thing she can remember of her childhood is sailing—sailing on sapphire seas, past sculptured hills. Long days spent, gazing on the lonely sea-bird's flight.
The priest realizes there is a well-guarded secret. The regular visitor does not speak TO the child, but OF her.
PŠre Fran‡ois has given Josephine his orders, but there is no tripping in the cold business-like actions of the woman who pays.
PŠre Fran‡ois is determined to take both the young men into his confidence. He will prevent any removal of this child, without the legal responsibility of some one. If they should take the alarm? How could he stop them? The law! But how and why?
Raoul Dauvray is in high spirits. After his regiment is disbanded, he is not slow to call at the splendid residence on the Champs Elys‚es. In truth, he goes frequently.