Her joy urged Ruth to question her, yet the girl hesitated. Her eyes, however, revealed to the countess her consuming curiosity.
"Mademoiselle!" exclaimed the old lady, "do you not know?"
"I—I don't know what you mean, Madame," stammered Ruth.
"It is from the count—my Allaire!"
"The message is from Count Marchand?" cried the girl, in utter amazement.
"But yes. He does not forget his old mother. When able, he always sends me word of cheer. Of course," she added, looking at the American girl curiously now, "there is something else upon the paper. His message to his mother is not a line. You understand, do you not? Monsieur Lafrane, of course——"
"Monsieur Lafrane has never told me a word," Ruth hastened to say. "I only suspected before to-day that Bubu carried messages back and forth across the lines."
"Ah, but you are to be trusted," the countess said cheerfully. "We do what the Anglais call—how is it?—'our little bit'? Bubu and I. He, too, is French!" and she said it proudly.
"And for years, Mademoiselle, we have established this couriership of Bubu's." She laughed. "Do you know what the farmers say of our so-good dog?"
Ruth nodded. "I have heard the story of the werwolf. And, really, Madame, the look of him as he runs at night would frighten anybody. He is ghostly."