Would she come? Lucile flew up the winding stairs and came to a standstill before Jeanette a trifle uncertainly, not quite sure what was expected of her.
The uncertainty lasted only a moment, for, as Jeanette, shy, and dewy-eyed, held out her arms to her new-found friend, quite suddenly Lucile knew. Impulsively she threw her arms about the older girl and drew her close, whispering, softly, “Tell me all you feel you can, Jeanette; you can trust me.” 158
“Oh, I believe that,” said Jeanette, between sharp little intakes of breath. “Were I not sure of it, I could not so confide in you.”
“Thank you,” said Lucile, simply.
“You see,” the girl continued, “when I was very young I went to live with M. Charloix, whose will this is,” indicating the document.
“And M. Charloix had a son, named after him, Henri,” Lucile supplemented.
The girl drew back in startled wonder, while the bright color flooded her face. “You know that—but how?” she cried.
“We sailed with M. Charloix from New York to Liverpool,” Lucile explained, striving vainly to keep her voice calm and steady. “He was searching for you.”
“Then you know—he has told you everything,” whispered the girl, while the document in her trembling hand rattled and shook. “Was he—did he—oh, how did he look?” And she turned pleading eyes upon Lucile.
Lucile’s own eyes filled suddenly and she had to choke back the tears before she could continue. “He looked very wan and sad. You see, uncertainty like that must be pretty hard to bear.”