"I think so, too, madame."

"So we had better strike while the iron is hot," continued the dowager.

"What time is it, Zerbinette?"

"Half-past four, madame," said the attendant, glancing at her watch.

"That gives us plenty of time. This morning when my grandson left to spend the day with the Merinvilles at Boncour, I promised him I would meet him at the lake at five o'clock, so we must make haste."

"But, madame, you forget that M. Raoul sent his groom to tell you that he was going to pay a call at Montel after leaving Boncour, and that he would not return to the chateau before seven."

"Yes, yes, you are right, girl. I must give up seeing him immediately then, for to return from Montel he will have to take the Vieille Coupe road, and that is too steep for me, for I'm a perfect coward in a carriage; besides, as it is only half-past four, I should have to drive too far to meet him, so I will postpone my conversation on the subject of the hermitess until this evening. Give me your arm, Zerbinette, and let us start, but first let me take another look at this famous rock."

"Don't go too near though, madame, for Heaven's sake."

But in spite of Zerbinette's protest she walked up to the rock, and, casting an almost melancholy glance at the wild spot, exclaimed:

"Ah, there is no change in the rocks. They look exactly as they did sixty years ago."

Then after a moment's silence, turning gaily to Zerbinette, who was holding herself prudently aloof, the dowager added:

"That story of the osprey has recalled hundreds of other pleasant reminiscences. I've a great mind to amuse myself by writing my memoirs some day. They might serve both to instruct and edify my grandson," the octogenarian continued, with a hearty laugh, in which Zerbinette joined.

For several minutes the sound of their laughter could be distinctly heard as the two slowly wended their way down the path.

When the sound had entirely died away, Frederick, his face livid, his expression frightful to behold, emerged from the cave where he had heard every word of the conversation between the dowager-marquise and Zerbinette, and, gun in hand, hastened toward another part of the forest.

CHAPTER XIII.

The Vieille Coupe road, which Raoul de Pont Brillant would be obliged to take on his return from the Chateau de Montel homeward, was a sort of deep hollow way, with high banks covered with tall pine-trees, whose heads formed such an impenetrable dome that the light was dim there even at noontime, and at sunset it was so dark that two men who met there would not be able to distinguish each other's features.

It was about six o'clock in the evening when Raoul de Pont Brillant turned in this path, which seemed all the darker and more gloomy from the fact that the highway he had just left was still lighted by the rays reflected from the setting sun. He was alone, having sent his groom to the chateau to inform the marquise of his change of plans.

He had proceeded only twenty yards when his vision became sufficiently accustomed to the obscurity to enable him to distinguish a human being standing motionless in the middle of the road, a short distance in front of him.

"Hallo there, get to one side of the road or the other," he shouted.

"One word, M. le Marquis de Pont Brillant," responded a voice.

"What do you want?" asked Raoul, checking his horse and leaning over upon his saddle, in a vain effort to distinguish the features of his interlocutor. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"M. de Pont Brillant, did you receive a note this morning requesting you to meet some one at Grand Sire's Rock?"

"No; for I left Pont Brillant at eight o'clock; but once more, what does all this mean? Who the devil are you?"

"I am the writer of the letter sent you this morning."

"Ah, well, my friend, you can--"

"I am not your friend," interrupted the voice, "I am your enemy."

"What's that you say?" exclaimed Raoul, in surprise.

"I say that I am your enemy."

"Indeed!" retorted Raoul, in a half-amused, half-contemptuous tone, for he was naturally very brave. "And what is your name, Mister Enemy?"

"My name is a matter of no consequence."

"Probably not, but why the devil do you stop me in the road at nightfall, then? Ah, I remember you said you wrote to me."

"Yes."

"To tell me what?"

"That you were a coward if you--"

"Wretch!" exclaimed Raoul, starting his horse.

But Madame Bastien's son struck the horse in the head with the barrel of his gun, forcing him to stop.

Raoul, a trifle startled at first, but really curious to know what the stranger was coming at, calmed himself, and remarked, coldly:

"You did me the honour to write to me, you say?"

"Yes, to tell you that if you were not a coward, you would come to Grand Sire's Rock to-day with your gun loaded like mine."

"And may I ask what we were to do with our guns?"

"We were to place ourselves ten paces apart, and then fire at each other."

"And for what object may I ask?"

"So I would kill you or you would kill me."

"That would probably have been the case at that distance unless we were very poor shots. But if one is so anxious to kill people, one should at least tell me why."

"I want to kill you--because I hate you."

"Bah!"

"Do not sneer, M. de Pont Brillant, do not sneer."

"It is very difficult not to, but I'll try simply to oblige you. You hate me, you say, and why?"

"The cause of my hatred concerns you as little as my name."