“No, monsieur, I will no longer beat the bush; I will now tell.”
Marie carefully closed the door, and then began her story:
“It was the night of the—of the horror. You remember, Miss French, we sat all in this very room, awaiting the coming of the great doctor—the doctor Leonard.”
“Yes,” said Kitty, looking intently at the girl; “yes, I know most of you stayed here waiting,—but I was not here; Doctor Hills sent Miss Gardner and me to our rooms.”
“Yes; it is so. Well, we sat here, and Miss Morton rose with suddenness and left the room. I followed, partly that I thought she might need my services, and partly—I confess it—because I trusted her not at all, and I wished to assure myself that all was well. I followed her,—but secretly,—and I—shall I tell you what she did?”
Kitty hesitated. She was not sure she should listen to what was, after all, servants’ gossip about a guest of the house.
But Fessenden looked at it differently. He knew Marie had been the trusted personal maid of Miss Van Norman, and he deemed it right to hear the evidence that she was now anxious to give.
“Go on, Marie,” he said gravely. “Be careful to tell it exactly as it happened, whatever it is.”
“Yes, m’sieur. Well, then, I softly followed Miss Morton, because she did not go directly to her own room, but went to Miss Van Norman’s sitting-room and stood before the desk of Miss Madeleine.”
“You are sure, Marie?” said Kitty, who couldn’t help feeling it was dishonorable to listen to this.