"The plot thickens," she said to herself, stealing to the window, which looked out upon the garden. There, to her amazement, she saw Mademoiselle Loiré emerging laboriously from the dining-room window. She saw her in the moonlight creep down the garden towards the wall at the end, but what happened after that she could only guess at, as the trees cast a shadow which hid the lady from view.
"The lady or the tiger?" she said, laughing, as she peered into the shades of the trees, and about five minutes later was rewarded by seeing two figures hurry back and enter the house by the same way that Mademoiselle Loiré had got out.
"Marie!" she thought triumphantly, wondering in what part of the garden she had been hidden, as there was no gate in the direction from which she had come. She lay awake for a little while, meditating on the vagaries of the family she had fallen into, and then fell so soundly asleep that she was surprised to find it broad daylight when she awoke, and to see Marie sitting on the end of her bed, smiling beamingly upon her.
"So you're back?" Barbara inquired with a yawn. "I hope you didn't find it too cold in the garden last night."
"You saw us, then?" giggled Marie. "But you don't know where I came from, do you? Nor does Aunt Thérèse. I'll tell you now; such an exciting time I've had—just like a story-book heroine."
"Penny novelette heroine," murmured Barbara, but her visitor was too full of her adventure to notice the remark.
"As you know, I told Aunt Thérèse I should drown myself," she began complacently; "but, of course, such was not my intention."
"Of course not," interpolated Barbara drily.
"Instead, I confided my plan to Aunt Marie, then slipped out into the street, and thence to our friends next door."
"The widower's?" exclaimed the English girl in surprise.