"Do you know M. Armand Duval's address?" I asked.
"Yes; he lives at Rue de ----; at least, that's where I always go to get
my money for the flowers you see there."
"Thanks, my good man."
I gave one more look at the grave covered with flowers, half longing to
penetrate the depths of the earth and see what the earth had made of the
fair creature that had been cast to it; then I walked sadly away.
"Do you want to see M. Duval, sir?" said the gardener, who was walking
beside me.
"Yes."
"Well, I am pretty sure he is not back yet, or he would have been here
already."
"You don't think he has forgotten Marguerite?"
"I am not only sure he hasn't, but I would wager that he wants to change
her grave simply in order to have one more look at her."
"Why do you think that?"
"The first word he said to me when he came to the cemetery was: 'How can
I see her again?' That can't be done unless there is a change of grave,
and I told him all about the formalities that have to be attended to in
getting it done; for, you see, if you want to move a body from one grave
to another you must have it identified, and only the family can give
leave for it under the direction of a police inspector. That is why M.
Duval has gone to see Mlle. Gautier's sister, and you may be sure his
first visit will be for me."
We had come to the cemetery gate. I thanked the gardener again, putting
a few coins into his hand, and made my way to the address he had given
me.
Armand had not yet returned. I left word for him, begging him to come
and see me as soon as he arrived, or to send me word where I could find
him.
Next day, in the morning, I received a letter from Duval, telling me
of his return, and asking me to call on him, as he was so worn out with
fatigue that it was impossible for him to go out.