Now, however, she merely told the countess what the agent had asked her to tell, including the fact that Bessie had been seen that afternoon riding away from the chateau with the two criminals, Legrand and José.
Her testimony seemed to convince the lady of the chateau. She bowed her head and wiped away the tears that moistened her now paling cheeks.
“Ma foi! Who, then, is to be trusted?” she murmured, when the girl had finished. “Your pardon, Monsieur! But, remember, I have had the poor creature in my service for many years.
“I must accept all your story as true. The American mademoiselle convinces me. This José, then, must be Bessie’s nephew. I had heard of him. I must thank her, perhaps, that she did not allow him and his associate to rob me before she ran away. The apaches!”
“We will get them,” said the agent cheerfully, preparing to depart. “I leave men in the neighborhood. They will communicate with you—and you can trust them. If the woman reappears alone we must question her. You understand?” and he spoke with some sternness.
The countess nodded, having recovered her self-control. “I know my duty, Monsieur,” she said. Then to Ruth, putting forth her hand, she added:
“You have called and find me in sore trouble, my dear. Do I understand that you work in our hospital at Clair?”
“Yes, Madame,” replied the girl.
“Come to see me again, then—at a happier time.” She pressed Ruth’s hand for a moment and went out. The secret service agent bowed low as she disappeared. Then he said with admiration to Ruth:
“Ma foi! A countess, say you? She should be a queen.” Ah, this good republican was quite plainly a lover of the aristocracy, too!