“Who is this Monsieur de Dalens?”

“He owns the chateau at the foot of the mountain on the other side; he only comes here for the chase.”

“Is he young?”

“Yes.”

“Is he related to Madame Pierson?”

“No, he was a friend of her husband.”

“Has her husband been dead long?”

“Five years on All-Saints’ day.  He was a worthy man.”

“And has this Monsieur de Dalens paid court?”

“To the widow?  In faith—­to tell the truth—­” he stopped, embarrassed.

“Well, will you answer me?”

“Some say so and some do not—­I know nothing and have seen nothing.”

“And you just told me that they do not talk about her in the country?”

“That is all they have said, and I supposed you knew that.”

“In a word, yes or no?”

“Yes, sir, I think so, at least.”

I arose from the table and walked down the road; Mercanson was there.  I expected he would try to avoid me; on the contrary he approached me.

“Sir,” he said, “you exhibited signs of anger which it does not become a man of my character to resent.  I wish to express my regret that I was charged to communicate a message which appeared so unwelcome.”

I returned his compliment, supposing he would leave me at once; but he walked along at my side.

“Dalens!  Dalens!” I repeated between my teeth, “who will tell me about Dalens?” For Larive had told me nothing except what a valet might learn.  From whom had he learned it?  From some servant or peasant.  I must have some witness who had seen Dalens with Madame Pierson and who knew all about their relations.  I could not get that Dalens out of my head, and not being able to talk to any one else, I asked Mercanson about him.

If Mercanson was not a bad man, he was either a fool or very shrewd, I have never known which.  It is certain that he had reason to hate me and that he treated me as meanly as possible.  Madame Pierson, who had the greatest friendship for the cure, had almost come to think equally well of the nephew.  He was proud of it, and consequently jealous.  It is not love alone that inspires jealousy; a favor, a kind word, a smile from a beautiful mouth, may arouse some people to jealous rage.

Mercanson appeared to be astonished.  I was somewhat astonished myself; but who knows his own mind?

At his first words I saw that the priest understood what I wanted to know and had decided not to satisfy me.

“How does it happen that you have known Madame Pierson so long and so intimately (I think so, at least) and have not met Monsieur de Dalens?  But, doubtless, you have some reason unknown to me for inquiring about him to-day.  All I can say is that as far as I know, he is an honest man, kind and charitable; he was, like you, very intimate with Madame Pierson; he is fond of hunting and entertains handsomely.  He and Madame Pierson were accustomed to devote much