the gates of the chateau.

"A la cave," answered the lady's voice. "In the cellar--do you not
know that it is Monday and I wash?"

The Abbe did not repeat his summons on the kitchen table with the
handle of his stick, but drew forward a chair.

"I know it is very hot, and that I am tired," he shouted toward the
cellar door, which stood open, giving egress to a warm smell of
soap.

"Precisely--and does Monsieur l'Abbe want me to come up as I am?"

The suggestion was darkly threatening, and the Abbe replied that
Marie must take her time, since it was washing-day.

The cottage was built on sloping ground at the gate of the chateau,
probably of the stones used for some earlier fortification. That
which Marie called the cellar was but half underground, and had an
exit to the garden which grew to the edge of the cliff. It was not
long before she appeared at the head of the stone steps, a square-
built woman with a face that had been sunburnt long ago by work in
the vineyards, and eyes looking straight at the world from beneath a
square and wrinkled forehead.

"Monsieur l'Abbe," she said, shortly--a salutation and a comment in
one; for it conveyed the fact that she saw it was he and perceived
that he was in his usual health. "It is news from Monsieur, I
suppose," she added, slowly, turning down her sleeves.