“She will never return—oh, monseigneur! she will never return; and it is not for me to say why.”
I released her hands.
“Well,” I said, “I would have helped her and have cared for her, Georgette; but you will not let me.”
She broke forth at once at that, her arms held out and her eyes swimming.
“I will tell you, monseigneur—all that I know; and God forgive me if I do wrong!”
“And me, Georgette, and wither me with His vengeance.”
“I will tell you, monseigneur. That night—that night after the terror, she spent in the woods, and all the next day she hid there, moving towards Coutras. I would go often to the Château to take to M. de Lâge the money for our weekly bill of faggots, and—and for other reasons; and now she watched for me and waylaid me and told me all. Oh, m’sieu’! she was incensed—and it was not for me to judge; but M. de Lâge is a wise man, and perhaps there is a wisdom that makes too little account of the scruples of our sex.”
“She would not return to him? Well!”
“She would beg or starve sooner, she said; and she would begin by asking a little food of me. Oh, m’sieu’, but the sad proud demoiselle! My heart wept to hear her so humble to the peasant girl to whom she had been good and gracious always in the old days of peace.”
“That is well. And where is she?”