"Let me see," he mused aloud, "I want to place it exactly where it was that night—" He looked back at her interrogatively. "Was it about where I have placed it?"
Her face was inscrutable.
"Or," he continued, thoughtfully, "was it an inch or two this way? I could tell exactly if the moon were up. Still"—he considered the ladder attentively—"I might be able to fix it with some accuracy if you would help me. Will you?"
"I do not understand," she said.
"Oh, it is nothing—still, if you wouldn't mind aiding me to settle a matter that interests me—would you?"
"With pleasure, monsieur," she said, indifferently. "What shall I do?"
So he mounted the ladder, crossed the wall, and stood on a stone niche on his side, looking down at the ladder. "Now," he said, "if you would be so amiable, madame, as to stand on the ladder for one moment you could aid me immensely."
"Mount that ladder, monsieur?"
She caught his eyes fixed on her; for just an instant she hesitated, then met them steadily enough; indeed, a growing and innocent curiosity widened her gaze, and she smiled and lifted her pretty shoulders—just a trifle, and her skirts a trifle, too; and, with a grace that made him tremble, she mounted the ladder, step by step, until her head and shoulders were on a level with his own across the wall.