He waited a minute, two minutes, three minutes, and still she did not
return. At length she came back, her bearing more composed; she looked
at him, and her eyes seized his and seemed as if they would read his
soul.
"Are you sure," she said, "of what you have told me? Will you swear that
the contents of these letters are as you say?"
"As I live," he answered gravely. "As God lives."
"And you know--of no other way, Monsieur? Of no other way?" she repeated
slowly and piteously.
"Of none, Madame, of none, I swear."
She sighed deeply, and stood sunk in thought. Then, "When do we reach
Angers?" she asked heavily.
"The day after to-morrow."
"I have--until the day after to-morrow?"
"Yes. To-night we lie near Vendome."
"And to-morrow night?"
"Near a place called La Fleche. It is possible," he went on with
hesitation--for he did not understand her--"that he may bathe to-morrow,
and may hand the packet to you, as he did to-day when I vainly sought
speech with you. If he does that--"
"Yes?" she said, her eyes on his face.
"The taking will be easy. But when he finds you have it not"--he
faltered anew--"it may go hard with you."
She did not speak.
"And there, I think, I can help you. If you will stray from the party, I
will meet you and destroy the letter. That done--and would God it were
done already--I will take to flight as best I can, and you will raise the
alarm and say that I robbed you of it! And if you tear your dress--"
"No," she said.
He looked a question.
"No!" she repeated in a low voice. "If I betray him I will not lie to
him! And no other shall pay the price! If I ruin him it shall be
between him and me, and no other shall have part in it!"
He shook his head. "I do not know," he murmured, "what he may do to
you!"
"Nor I," she said proudly. "That will be for him."
* * * * * Curious eyes had watched the two as they climbed the hill. For the path
ran up the slope to the gap which served for gate, much as the path leads
up to the Castle Beautiful in old prints of the Pilgrim's journey, and
Madame St. Lo had marked the first halt and the second, and, noting every
gesture, had lost nothing of the interview save the words. But until the
two, after pausing a moment, passed out of sight she made no sign. Then
she laughed. And as Count Hannibal, at whom the laugh was aimed, did not
heed her, she laughed again. And she hummed the line of Ronsard.
Still he would not be roused, and, piqued, she had recourse to words.