Madame de Lanrivain let the embroidery slip to her knees, and folded her hands on it. For several minutes she looked at me thoughtfully.
“A pack of dogs—you saw them?”
“Saw them? I saw nothing else!”
“How many?” She dropped her voice a little. “I’ve always wondered——”
I looked at her with surprise: I had supposed the place to be familiar to her. “Have you never been to Kerfol?” I asked.
“Oh, yes; often. But never on that day.”
“What day?”
“I’d quite forgotten, and so had Hervé, I’m sure. If we’d remembered, we never should have sent you to-day—but then, after all, one doesn’t half believe that sort of thing, does one?”
“What sort of thing?” I asked, involuntarily sinking my voice to the level of hers. Inwardly I was thinking: “I knew there was something....”
Madame de Lanrivain cleared her throat and produced a reassuring smile. “Didn’t Hervé tell you the story of Kerfol? An ancestor of his was mixed up in it. You know every Breton house has its ghost-story; and some of them are rather unpleasant.”