“Who? who? who?” cried the whole party.
“Perrin the notary.”
It was the baroness’s turn to be surprised; for there was nothing romantic about Perrin the notary. Aubertin, however, let her know that he was in private communication with the said Perrin, and this was not the first friendly act the good notary had done her in secret.
While he was converting the baroness to his view, Josephine and Rose exchanged a signal, and slipped away round an angle of the chateau.
“Who is it?” said Rose.
“It is some one who has a delicate mind.”
“Clearly, and therefore not a notary.”
“Rose, dear, might it not be some person who has done us some wrong, and is perhaps penitent?”
“Certainly; one of our tenants, or creditors, you mean; but then, the paper says ‘a friend.’ Stay, it says a debtor. Why a debtor? Down with enigmas!”
“Rose, love,” said Josephine, coaxingly, “think of some one that might—since it is not the doctor, nor Monsieur Perrin, might it not be—for after all, he would naturally be ashamed to appear before me.”