“Indeed? You might have withdrawn them this morning when you met me. But then you were not in that mind.”
“Mademoiselle! You accuse me of—”
“Oh, no, no, I accuse you of nothing. But I appeal to you to tell me why you left the house so quickly. I know from Marie Vazon—”
“Ah! What?”
Both Monsieur Blaise and Bayre awaited her answer eagerly.
“Only this, that your abrupt departure has thrown her into a state of the greatest alarm. I found her in the hall, sobbing and screaming, and rocking herself to and fro. Of course she wouldn’t tell me anything, so I’ve come after you to beg you to relieve my anxiety. Mr Bayre, surely you will speak out!”
“Do you think I wouldn’t if I could?” said Bayre, speaking with as much passion as she had shown herself. “I’ve come away because Monsieur Blaise came away. I know nothing. I’m just as much in the dark as yourself.”
She looked incredulously up into his face.
“I shouldn’t have thought you capable of deceiving me, certainly,” said she, “in a matter so important to me. If my guardian were mad, as you seemed to think, you couldn’t, in mercy, keep such a terrible secret to yourself, for my sake. And if—if it were anything else, why, surely you would give me some idea of what was hanging over us, wouldn’t you? If you knew the frightful state of anxiety in which I’m living!”
And her voice suddenly broke and she burst into tears.