"I did not like to come here alone, so I asked Betty to come with me. She is to be trusted."
"You need not assure me of that," I answered, taking Betty's hand. "I already know it. I am glad you—"
But here I was interrupted by a soft cry from Bettina, and by a half-smothered scream from Frances, both of whom deserted me suddenly and ran toward the door I had just entered. Turning, I saw Frances with her arms about the Abbé's neck, and Bettina clasping one of his hands. I thought the two had gone mad, but when Bettina saw my look of surprise and inquiry, she dropped his hand, came to me, and asked:—
"Did you want us to pretend that we did not know him? If so, you should have told us."
"But you don't know him," I declared.
"Perhaps I don't," she returned, laughing softly and shrugging her shoulders, "but evidently your cousin does. If not, she should take her arms from around his neck."
"But she is mistaken," I insisted.
"She seems to be convinced," answered Bettina, with a curious little glance up to me, half laughing, half inquiring. Evidently she was doubtful whether I spoke in jest or in earnest.
Frances still clung to the Abbé, her head resting on his shoulder, so I started toward her, intending to correct her mistake. Bettina, seeing my purpose, caught me by the arm, saying:—
"Don't you really know?"