"And she has been here—?"
"A month."
"Perhaps she is rich," said I.
"Mon Dieu!" said the concierge, turning round to look at me, "and live in such a chamber?"
"But she dresses richly," said I.
"Eh bien! you have seen her, then!" exclaimed briskly the little concierge.
By this time we were in the court again. My search had only stimulated my curiosity tenfold more. I half fancied the concierge began to suspect my inquiries. Yet I determined to venture a single further one. It was just as I was carelessly leaving the court—"Mais, la mademoiselle, is, perhaps, the daughter of Monsieur Very, eh, monsieur?"
"Ma foi, I cannot tell you, monsieur," said the little concierge—and he closed his door.
I told the abbé of my search. He smiled, and shook his head.
I described to him the person of Monsieur Very, and told him he must keep his eye upon him, and, if possible, clear up the strange mystery of the window in the court.