As they walked down the hill together, it was now M. de Vilmorin who was silent and preoccupied, Andre-Louis who was talkative.  He had chosen Woman as a subject for his present discourse.  He claimed — quite unjustifiably — to have discovered Woman that morning; and the things he had to say of the sex were unflattering, and occasionally almost gross.  M. de Vilmorin, having ascertained the subject, did not listen.  Singular though it may seem in a young French abbe of his day, M. de Vilmorin was not interested in Woman.  Poor Philippe was in several ways exceptional.  Opposite the Breton arme — the inn and posting-house at the entrance of the village of Gavrillac — M. de Vilmorin interrupted his companion just as he was soaring to the dizziest heights of caustic invective, and Andre-Louis, restored thereby to actualities, observed the carriage of M. de La Tour d’Azyr standing before the door of the hostelry.

“I don’t believe you’ve been listening to me,” said he.

“Had you been less interested in what you were saying, you might have observed it sooner and spared your breath.  The fact is, you disappoint me, Andre.  You seem to have forgotten what we went for.  I have an appointment here with M. le Marquis.  He desires to hear me further in the matter.  Up there at Gavrillac I could accomplish nothing.  The time was ill-chosen as it happened.  But I have hopes of M. le Marquis.”

“Hopes of what?”

“That he will make what reparation lies in his power.  Provide for the widow and the orphans.  Why else should he desire to hear me further?”

“Unusual condescension,” said Andre-Louis, and quoted “Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes.”

“Why?” asked Philippe.

“Let us go and discover — unless you consider that I shall be in the way.”

Into a room on the right, rendered private to M. le Marquis for so long as he should elect to honour it, the young men were ushered by the host.  A fire of logs was burning brightly at the room’s far end, and by this sat now M. de La Tour d’Azyr and his cousin, the Chevalier de Chabrillane.  Both rose as M. de Vilmorin came in.  Andre-Louis following, paused to close the door.

“You oblige me by your prompt courtesy, M. de Vilmorin,” said the Marquis, but in a tone so cold as to belie the politeness of his words.  “A chair, I beg.  Ah, Moreau?” The note was frigidly interrogative.  “He accompanies you, monsieur?” he asked.

“If you please, M. le Marquis.”

“Why not?  Find yourself a seat, Moreau.”  He spoke over his shoulder as to a lackey.

“It is good of you, monsieur,” said Philippe, “to have offered me this opportunity of continuing the subject that took me so fruitlessly, as it happens, to Gavrillac.”

The Marquis crossed his legs, and held one of his fine hands to the blaze.  He replied, without troubling to turn to the young man, who was slightly behind him.