“Now we are alone, my dear Anthony, you can speak frankly. Did M. de
Boiscoran keep a mistress?”
“No, sir.”
“Did he ever have one?”
“Never. They will tell you, perhaps, that once upon a time he was rather
pleased with a great, big red-haired woman, the daughter of a miller in
the neighborhood, and that the gypsy of a woman came more frequently to
the chateau than was needful,--now on one pretext, and now on another.
But that was mere childishness. Besides, that was five years ago,
and the woman has been married these three years to a basket-maker at
Marennes.”
“You are quite sure of what you say?”
“As sure as I am of myself. And you would be as sure of it yourself, if
you knew the country as I know it, and the abominable tongues the people
have. There is no concealing any thing from them. I defy a man to talk
three times to a woman without their finding it out, and making a story
of it. I say nothing of Paris”--