The girl nodded confirmation. “I fear that is so, Ma’m’selle,” she said; then, as though realizing her duty as hostess, she rose to her feet, saying, hurriedly, “But I forget myself. You must have hunger, Ma’m’selle. I will return at once.” Then, checking herself again, she added, “But I have not yet told you my name. It is Jeanette Renard.”
“And mine is Lucile Payton.”
“Now are we acquainted,” said Jeanette, gaily.
Lucile, left to herself, felt again, only to a greater extent, that strange sense of familiarity with her surroundings. Then, in a flash, the solution came to her. Why, how stupid she was not to have realized it before! The chateau corresponded, word for word, with M. Charloix’s description. In Lucile’s own words, it was it!
And her name was Jeanette! Why, of course! How absurdly simple the whole thing was! Why, this was the very scene of M. Charloix’s amazing story. But that she, Lucile, should stumble into the very midst of all this mystery——
At this point in her meditations Jeanette re-entered the room, smiling and serene. Lucile decided she was older than she looked. 154
“I will send a servant with a message to your people after you have finished your repast,” she said.
“But the rain?” Lucile began.
“Ah, that is nothing,” said the girl, shrugging her shoulders, as if dismissing the subject. “She is well used to it.”
Although Lucile’s excitement and curiosity were fast reaching fever heat, she tried to control herself and to answer Jeanette calmly and sanely.