"I am sure he has, Maurice," interrupted Bertha. "I never knew Baptiste to utter even a white lie: he has as great a horror of falsehood as Madeleine herself."
Baptiste looked at her gratefully.
"Then you know nothing at all," ejaculated Maurice, in a tone of discouragement. "You did not help Mademoiselle Madeleine in any way? She must have had some assistance; but from you she had none? You did not even know that she intended to leave us?"
Baptiste hesitated; his mouth twitched,—his eyes were fixed upon the ground.
"Why do you not answer, Baptiste?" asked Bertha. "You did not know that Mademoiselle Madeleine was going,—did you?"
"Yes, mademoiselle."
The answer was spoken almost in a whisper.
"You knew it? And why, why have you not told us this before?" she almost shrieked out.
"No one asked me that question, mademoiselle; and Mademoiselle Madeleine requested me not to give any information concerning her which I could possibly, and without uttering a falsehood, avoid."