“I would indeed,” I assented earnestly. “I told her once I’d do anything in the world for her.”
“Even if it involved something that George Ward might never forgive you for?”
“I said, ‘anything in the world,’” I returned, perhaps a little huskily. “I meant all of that. If there is anything she wants me to do, I shall do it.”
She gave a low cry of triumph, but immediately checked it. Then she leaned far over the table, her face close above the book, and, tracing the outline of an uncertain lily with her small, brown-gloved forefinger, as though she were consulting me on the drawing, “I wasn’t afraid to come through the woods alone,” she said, in a very low voice, “because I wasn’t alone. Louise came with me.”
“What?” I gasped. “Where is she?”
“At the Baudry cottage down the road. They won’t miss her at the chateau until morning; I locked her door on the outside, and if they go to bother her again—though I don’t think they will—they’ll believe she’s fastened it on the inside and is asleep. She managed to get a note to Keredec late this afternoon; it explained everything, and he had some trunks carried out the rear gate of the inn and carted over to Lisieux to be shipped to Paris from there. It is to be supposed—or hoped, at least—that this woman and her people will believe THAT means Professor Keredec and Mr. Harman will try to get to Paris in the same way.”
“So,” I said, “that’s what Percy meant about the trunks. I didn’t understand.”
“He’s on watch, you see,” she continued, turning a page to another drawing. “He means to sit up all night, or he wouldn’t have slept this afternoon. He’s not precisely the kind to be in the habit of afternoon naps—Mr. Percy!” She laughed nervously. “That’s why it’s almost absolutely necessary for us to have you. If we have—the thing is so simple that it’s certain.”
“If you have me for what?” I asked.
“If you’ll help”—and, as she looked up, her eyes, now very close to mine, were dazzling indeed—“I’ll adore you for ever and ever! Oh, MUCH longer than you’d like me to!”