"There are five clocks in the house. Why should they all go wrong at the same time and in the same manner?"
He smiled. "I don't know," he said frankly.[pg 109] "I'll investigate, if you will permit me."
"Of course.... And, about L'Ombre. What could explain its presence in the moat? It is a creature of icy waters; it is extremely limited in its range. My father has often said that, except L'Ombre which has appeared at long intervals in our moat, L'Ombre never has been seen in Brittany."
"From where does this clear water come which fills the moat?" he asked, smiling.
"From living springs in the bottom."
"No doubt," he said cheerfully, "a long subterranean vein of water connects these springs with some distant Alpine river, somewhere—in the Pyrenees, perhaps—" He hesitated, for the explanation seemed as far-fetched as the water.
Perhaps it so appeared to her, for she remained politely silent.
Suddenly, in the house, a clock struck five times. They both sat listening intently. From the depths of the ancient mansion, the other clocks repeated the strokes, first one, then another, then two sounding their clear little bells almost in unison. All struck five. He[pg 110] drew out his watch and looked at it. The hour was three in the afternoon.
After a moment her attitude, a trifle rigid, relaxed. He muttered something about making an examination of the clocks, adding that to adjust and regulate them would be a simple matter.
She sat very still beside him on the stone coping—her dark eyes wandered toward the forest—wonderful eyes, dreamily preoccupied—the visionary eyes of a Bretonne, full of the mystery and beauty of magic things unseen.