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He took his leave shortly after that; and Monsieur Duchemin settled down in the chair which his guest had quitted to grapple with his problem: where under Heaven to go? After a wasted while, he picked up in abstraction the book which Wertheimer had been reading and wondered if, by any chance, he had left it there on purpose, so strong seemed the hint.
Her profound reverie disturbed by his approach, she rose quickly, advancing to meet Duchemin with both hands offered in sympathy. "My dear friend! You are suffering ?" He met this with a smiling denial. "Not now; at first, yes; but since my bath and coffee, I'm as right as a trivet. And you, madame?" "A little weary, monsieur, otherwise quite well."
But it wasn't; not to wait a decent interval would be self-betraying, since Duchemin had no longer any immediate intention of moving on from Nant; finally, he rather hoped to get news at Millau that would strengthen a prayer to Eve de Montalais to be sensible and remove her jewels to a place of safe-keeping before it was too late. Millau, however, disappointed.
Smitten brutally on the point of the jaw, his head jerked back, he reeled and fell against a chair, which went to the floor with a muffled crash. Duchemin woke up in his bed, glare of sunlight in his eyes. From the latter circumstance he reckoned, rather groggily, it must be about the middle of the forenoon; for not till about that time did the sun work round to the windows.
Of course Duchemin was going, had in fact already despatched his acceptance by the hand of the same messenger. Equally of course he knew that he ought not to go. For a man of his years he was, as a matter of training and habit, amazingly honest with himself.
As in concerted movement Madame de Sévénié, Eve de Montalais, the curé and Duchemin approached, his cool, intelligent, good-humoured glance surveyed them swiftly, each in turn, and with unerring instinct settled on the first as the one to whom he must address himself.
Duchemin bowed his head over hands so tightly knitted that the knuckles were white with strain. "You would not have faith," he said in a low voice, "if you knew " She interrupted in a gentle voice: "Are you sure?" " What I must tell you!" "My friend," she said: "tell me nothing that would distress you."
After a time something, call it instinct, impelled him to look back the way he had come. Half a mile distant he saw the figure of a peasant following the same road. Duchemin stopped and waited for the other to come up, thinking to get a better look at him, perhaps some definite information about the road and in particular as to his chances of finding drinkable water.
But André Duchemin is merely a name, a nom de guerre; you may saddle him with all the crimes in the calendar if you like, and welcome. For when I say he will disappear to-night, I mean it quite literally: André Duchemin will nevermore be heard of in this world." She had a smile quivering on her lips, yet shook her head. "Monsieur forgets I learned to know him under the name of Duchemin."
"One gathers that he took something else?" "Nothing less than the world-known Anstruther collection of jewels, the property of Madame de Montalais née Anstruther." "But I am recently from the Château de Montalais, and in a position to assure mademoiselle that this poor fellow, Duchemin, is unjustly accused." "Oh, ho, ho!"
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