Several days in succession she spent the hours in the loft of a granary where there were some bookshelves, and on them, old newspapers, bundles of papers, pamphlets, printed during the last century, histories of the district, communal reports, and parish records.
“Well,” asked Raoul, laughing. “Are we getting on? I have an impression that your eyes are beginning to see more clearly.”
“Perhaps. I won’t say that they aren’t.”
The eyes of Dorothy! In that combination of charming things her face, it was they above everything which held one’s attention. Large, almond-shaped and lengthened in the shadow of their black lashes, they surprised one by the inconceivable diversity of their coloring and expression: of the blue which changed like the blue of the sea according to the hour and the light; of a blue which seemed to vary with the successive thoughts which changed her expression. And these eyes, so delightful that it seemed that they must always be smiling or laughing, were in moments of meditation the gravest eyes that ever were, when she half-closed and fixed them on some image in her mind.
Raoul, now, only saw through them, and was only really interested in what they expressed. The fabulous story of the treasure and the medal was wholly summed up for him in the charming spectacle afforded by two beautiful eyes observant or thoughtful, troubled or joyful. And perhaps Dorothy allowed herself to be observed with a certain satisfaction. The love of this big, shy young fellow touched her by its respectfulness, she who had only known hitherto the brutal homage of desire.
One day she made him take a seat in the little boat which was moored to the shore of the lake, and letting it drift with the current she said to him:
“We are drawing near.”
“Near what?” he asked, startled.
“The hour which so many things have so long foretold.”
“You believe?”
“I believe that you made no mistake the day on which you saw in your grandfather’s hands that gold medal in which all the traditions of the family seem to be summed up. Unfortunately the poor man lost his reason before you were put in possession of the facts; and the thread which bound the past to the future has been broken.”
“Then what do you hope for, if we do not find that medal? We’ve searched everywhere, his room, his clothes, the house, the orchard, and found nothing.”
“It is impossible that he should keep to himself forever the answer to the enigma. If his reason is dead, his instincts survive. And what an instinct that is that centuries have been forming! Doubtless he has put the coin within reach, or within sight. You may be sure that he has hidden it in such a way that no execrable piece of bad luck could rob him of it without his being aware of it. But don’t worry: at the appointed hour some unconscious gesture will reveal the truth to us.”
Raoul objected.
“But what if d’Estreicher took it from him?”
“He did not. If he had, we should not have heard the noise of the struggle. Your grandfather resisted to the end; and it was only our coming which put d’Estreicher to flight.”
“Oh, that ruffian! If only I had him in my hands!” exclaimed Raoul.
The boat was drifting gently. Dorothy said in a very low voice, barely moving her lips:
“Not so loud! He can hear us.”
“What! What do you mean?”
“I say that he is close by and that he doesn’t lose a single word of what we say,” she went on in the same low voice.
Raoul was dumbfounded.
“But—but—what does it mean? Can you see him?”
“No. But I can feel his presence; and he can see us.”
“Where from?”
“From some place among the hillocks. I have been thinking that this name of Hillocks Manor pointed to some inpenetrable hiding-place, and I’ve discovered a proof of it in one of those old books, which actually speaks of a hiding-place where the Vendéans lay hid, and says that it is believed to be in the neighborhood of Tiffauges and Clisson.”
“But how should d’Estreicher have learnt of it?”
“Remember that the day of the assault your grandfather was alone, or believed himself to be alone. Strolling among the hillocks, he would have disclosed one of the entrances. D’Estreicher was watching him at the time. And since then the rascal had been using it as a refuge.
“Look at the ground, all humps and ravines. On the right, on the left, everywhere, there are places in the rock for observations, so to speak, from which one can hear and see everything that takes place inside the boundaries of the estate. D’Estreicher is there.”
“What is he doing?”
“He’s searching and, what’s more, he is keeping an eye on my investigations. He also—for all that I can’t guess exactly the reason—wants the gold medal. And he is afraid that I shall get it before him.”
“But we must inform the police!”
“Not yet. This underground hiding-place should have several issues, some of which perhaps run under the river. If we give the ruffian warning, he will escape.”
“Then what’s your plan?”
“To get him to come out of this lair and trap him.”
“How?”
“I’ll tell you at the appointed time, and that will not be long. I repeat: the hour draws near.”
“What proof have you?”
“This,” she said. “I have seen the moneylender, Monsieur Voirin, and he showed me the bill of sale. If by five o’clock on July 31st Monsieur Voirin, who has desired all his life to acquire the Manor, has not received the sum of three hundred thousand francs in cash or government securities, the Manor becomes his property.”
“I know,” said he. “And it will break my heart to go away from here.”
She protested:
“There’s no question of your going away from here.”
“Why not? There’s no reason why I should become rich in a month.”
“Yes, there is a reason, the reason
