Thoughts of Michael she dismissed as well as she could, but she had passionate longings to go and take out the blue enamel locket from her despatch-box and look at it once more; she would not permit herself to indulge in this weakness, though.  Her whole days were ruled with sternest discipline until she became quite thin, and the Pere Anselme grew worried about her.

A fortnight went by; it was growing near to Christmastime—­but the atmosphere of Heronac contained no peace, and one bleak afternoon the old priest paced the long walk in the garden with knitted brows.  He did not feel altogether sure as to what was his duty.  He was always on the side of leaving things in the hand of the good God, but it might be that he would be selected to be an instrument of fate, since he seemed the only detached person with any authority in the affair.

His Dame d’Heronac had tried hard to be natural and her old self, he could see that, but her taste in their reading had been over much directed to Heine, she having brought French translations of this poet’s works back with her from Paris.

Twice also had she asked him to recite to her De Musset’s “La Nuit de Decembre.”  He did not consider these as satisfactory symptoms.  There was no question in his astute mind as to what was the general cause of his beloved lady’s unrest.  The change in her had begun to take place ever since the fatal visit of the two Englishmen.  Herein lay matter for thought.  For the very morning before their arrival she had been particularly bright and gay, telling him of her intended action in making arrangements to free herself from her empty marriage bonds, and apparently contemplating a new life with Lord Fordyce with satisfaction.  Pere Anselme was a great student of Voltaire and looked upon his tale of “Zadig” as one from which much benefit could be derived.  And now he began to put the method of this citizen of Babylon into practice, never having heard of the immortal Sherlock Holmes.

The end of his cogitations directed upon this principle brought him two concrete facts.

Number one:  That Sabine had been deeply affected by the presence of the second Englishman—­the handsome and vital young man—­and number two:  That she was now certainly regretting that she was going to obtain her divorce.  Further use of Zadig’s deductive method produced the conviction that, as an abstract young man would be equally out of reach were she still bound to her husband—­or married to Lord Fordyce—­and could only be obtained were she divorced—­some other reason for her distaste and evident depression about this latter state coming to her must be looked for, and could only be found in the supposition that the Seigneur of Arranstoun might be himself her husband!  Why, then, this mystery?  Why had not he and she told the truth?  Zadig’s counsel could not help him to unravel this point, and he continued to pace the walk with impatient sighs.