Page "fiction" Paragraph 425

When enough time had elapsed so that there was little likelihood of his returning for something he had forgotten, Harold went out into the hall and stood looking into one room after another.

In the room next to theirs was a huge cradle, of mahogany, ornately carved and decorated with gold leaf.

It was the most important-looking cradle he had ever seen.

Then came their bathroom, and then a bedroom that, judging by the photographs on the walls, must belong to Mme Cestre.

A young woman who looked like Alix, with her two children.

Alix and Eugene on their wedding day.

Matching photographs in oval frames of Mme Bonenfant and an elderly man who must be Alix's grandfather.

Mme Vienot, considerably younger and very different.

The schoolboy.

And a gray-haired man whose glance -- direct, lifelike, and mildly accusing -- was contradicted by the gilt and black frame.

It was the kind of frame that is only put around the photograph of a dead person.

Professor Cestre, could it be??