I disregarded her innuendo.
"Lady Delahaye," I said, "if you were as much her friend as I believe that I am, you would not hesitate to tell me all that you know. I have no other wish than to see her safe, and amongst her friends, but I will give her up to no one whom I believe to be her enemy."
"Arnold," she answered gravely, "I can only repeat what I have told you before. You are interfering in greater concerns than you know of. Even if I would, I dare not give you any information. The fate of this child, insignificant in herself though she is, is bound up with very important issues."
Our eyes met for a moment. The expression in hers puzzled me—puzzled me to such an extent that I made her no answer. Slowly she extended her hand.
"At least," she said, "let us part friends—unless you choose to be gallant and wait here for me until to-morrow. It is a dreary journey home alone."
I took her hand readily enough.
"Friends, by all means," I answered, "but I must get back to Paris to-night. A messenger from Madame Richard is already waiting for me in London."
She withdrew her hand quickly, and turned away.
"It must be as you will, of course," she said coldly. "I do not wish to detain you."
Nevertheless, her farewell look haunted me as I sped across the great fertile plain on my way to Paris.