Suzon sat down heavily on a chair. “Mercy on us! What is his name, Madame, his business?”
“His name—no, I will not tell you his name. And as for his business, suffice it to say that it has not succeeded. I want to keep him here no longer than is necessary for his wound, lest he should be discovered and taken.”
“But you yourself, Madame?”
“My reputation, do you mean?” asked the Duchesse, laughing. She seemed in a mood of unusual exhilaration. “I think, at my age, that will take care of itself.”
“Your safety is what I mean, Madame,” said Suzon reproachfully. “You ought to give him up, whatever he was doing.”
“That is just what I am going to do—to his relations if they will come and fetch him.” And Valentine explained her plan. When she had heard it, poor Suzon, breathing a sigh of relief at the prospect of getting rid of the refugee, almost clamoured to take the compromising letter to its destination.
“And I think I had better see these gentlemen and bring back the answer to-morrow,” she volunteered.
“I hardly like to ask you to do that,” said Valentine, hesitating.
“Then how are you going to know, Madame, whether the carriage will be there or not,” objected Mme Tessier. “It will be difficult enough as it is to bring it all off without a hitch. And I am only too anxious for him to be gone. Cleaning day or visiting day, what might happen—Heaven preserve us!”
“My bedroom is not on show to the general public,” observed Valentine lightly. “And I can always lock Louise out.” (Louise commanded the brigade of cleaners.) “However, I am not anxious to keep the boy, for his own sake. Now, what have you brought me for him, Suzette?”