"I am afraid so. But listen: I stayed in town because I am not trustful like you—and I am not wrong. An hour before the time when I ought to call for the old countess at her inn, I met my man Patrick at the door, where I had sent him to stand sentry since daybreak. He had seen nothing wrong, and I left the carriage and went up stairs quite assured. At her door a woman stopped me to say that her mistress had upset the chocolate, which she boiled herself, on her foot, and was crippled."
"Oh, heavens! you drive me to despair, Jean."
"I am not in despair. You can do what I could not; if there be any imposture you can discover it, and somehow we will punish her. I was consulting a lawyer; he says we must not thrash a person in a house; it is fine and prison, while without——"
"Beat a woman, a countess of the old stock? You mad rogue, let me rather see her and try another method."
Jean conducted her to the Chanticleer Inn, where the old lady dwelt. At the foot of the stairs she was stopped by the landlady.
"Countess Bearn is ill," she said.
"Just so; I am coming to see how she is," and Jeanne darted by her as nimble as a fawn.
"Your ladyship here!" ejaculated the old lady, on seeing the court beauty's face screwed up into the conventional expression of condolence.
"I have only just learnt of the accident. You seem to be in much pain."
"My right foot is scalded. But misfortunes will happen."