"I sent for you to bid you farewell and to return to you these jewels," Mademoiselle said. "It is grief to me that you have been so secret about the matter and made the distress for your friends."
Anne's eyes filled with tears. It hurt her to remember that she had refused to answer Mrs. Patterson's questions. How pale and troubled the dear face had looked! And now she could never, never explain. Could she ever tell Miss Drayton or Pat? Probably not. What a dreadful thought! "I am so sorry, Mamzelle," she faltered. "Indeed, it is not my fault. I had to promise. I was not to tell any one till we went to Nantes. I kept hoping we would go. Now we never shall. And I do want to tell them."
Here was a clew and Mademoiselle's quick wit followed it. "Is it that you mean, Anne," she asked, "that some one—a person whose wish had the right to be regarded—told you that you might explain the matter to your guardian when you went to Nantes?"
"Yes, Mamzelle, that was it," Anne responded eagerly. "He said I might tell then."
"He," mused Mademoiselle. "Who, Anne?"
Anne did not answer.
"Where were you when he told you this?"
Anne hesitated, debating with herself whether her uncle would wish her to tell. Mademoiselle changed the question.
"When he had you to promise that, were you expecting to go to Nantes?"
"Yes, Mamzelle." Anne was sure she might answer this. "And then seeing Dr. La Farge changed all the plans, you know."