Frédérick Larsan interrupted:—
"May I leave you?" he asked of Robert Darzac. "Have you a key, or do you wish me to give you this one."
"Thank you. I have a key and will lock the gate."
Larsan hurried off in the direction of the château, the imposing pile of which could be perceived a few hundred yards away.
Robert Darzac, with knit brow, was beginning to show impatience. I presented Rouletabille as a good friend of mine, but, as soon as he learnt that the young man was a journalist, he looked at me very reproachfully, excused himself, under the necessity of having to reach Epinay in twenty minutes, bowed, and whipped up his horse. But Rouletabille had seized the bridle and, to my utter astonishment, stopped the carriage with a vigorous hand. Then he gave utterance to a sentence which was utterly meaningless to me.
"The presbytery has lost nothing of its charm, nor the garden its brightness."
The words had no sooner left the lips of Rouletabille than I saw Robert Darzac quail. Pale as he was, he became paler. His eyes were fixed on the young man in terror, and he immediately descended from the vehicle in an inexpressible state of agitation.
"Come!—come in!" he stammered.
Then, suddenly, and with a sort of fury, he repeated:—
"Let us go, monsieur."
He turned up by the road he had come from the
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