That evening, when the sky had cleared, Manon and Brent opened up a hole under the wall where Manon’s treasure lay buried, and carried the silver into the cellar. Anatole was to drive over again next day and take Manon to Amiens where she was to meet the gentleman who was promoting these pilgrimages in Picardy, and also deposit her valuables with the “Société Générale.” Paul was shovelling the earth back into the hole when Manon came back along the path, walking slowly, and stroking a black eyebrow with a meditative forefinger.
“Dear soul, look!”
Her face flushed a sudden excitement. There was a vivacious buoyancy in her pointing finger. Paul was head up on the instant, ready for some dramatic event.
“What is it?”
She was pointing at the brown soil behind him, and there was a child’s d
