But, more than an hour later, they still had no idea what to do.
“There’s no other way,” whispered M. Gagnon at last, “but to go ask Father Duprey to offer some idea. He must be taken into the secret.”
Marie nodded.
The night was dark and rain began to fall.
Her father yawned. “I’ll go see Father Duprey tomorrow, first thing,” he said. “Now off to bed with you.”
They rose, and stood tensely, startled by a creak on the stairs and soft, padding footsteps outside the door.
The door opened and André stood there, clutching his boots and his trumpet.
“Heavens, André, you frightened us,” Marie snapped. “We thought you were in bed long ago.”
His father asked gruffly, “Where are you going at this hour?”
The boy moved nervously. “Papa,” he blurted, “why didn’t you tell me that man was hiding in the attic?”