"Yes, the Marquis writes that he is on his way to Gemosac and wishes
you to prepare the chateau for his return."

The Abbe waved his hand toward the castle gates with an air
suggestive of retainers and lackeys, of busy stables and a hundred
windows lighted after dark. His round eyes did not meet the direct
glance fixed on his face, but wandered from one object to another in
the room, finally lighting on the great key of the chateau gate,
which hung on a nail behind the door.

"Then Monsieur le Marquis is coming into residence," said Marie,
gravely.

And by way of reply the Abbe waved his hand a second time toward the
castle walls.

"And the worst of it is," he added, timidly, to this silent
admission, "that he brings a guest."

He moistened his fat lips and sat smiling in a foolish way at the
open door; for he was afraid of all women, and most afraid of Marie.

"Ah!" she retorted, shortly. "To sleep in the oubliette, one may
suppose. For there is no other bed in the chateau, as you quite
well know, Monsieur l'Abbe. It is another of your kings no doubt.
Oh! you need not hold up your hands--when Monsieur Albert reads
aloud that letter from Monsieur le Marquis, in England, without so
much as closing the door of the banquet hall! It is as well that it
was no other than I who stood on the stairs outside and heard all."