“What is it all?” she said, putting out her hand to Max, with an appealing glance that went to his heart. He answered it at once with a kind smile.
“There is good news for you. M. Saint-Martin has come at last.”
“So it is true!” Her face changed suddenly, her eyes danced. “I could not believe it; but if you say so, I know it is true.”
Yes, those grave blue eyes were true as truth itself. There was a burden to be borne by one, perhaps by both of them, and his work should be to lighten hers.
“You may believe it, indeed. I have seen him—”
“Seen him!” Such gladness in her face!—such gladness in her voice!
“And you shall meet him to-day at the Cygne.”
Something made her put out her hand to him again. “What do I not owe you!” she said, gratefully.
“For what?” he said with a smile. “I was neither the letter nor the ship that brought him back. Allons, it appears to me it is monsieur the curé of Ardron whom you will have to thank the most.”
She shook her head without answering. She was not deceived. If ever friend was faithful to his friendship, it was this friend. Neither of them spoke for a moment, then Thérèse said slowly,—“I shall understand every thing better by and by, I think. I fancy there are things which neither of us understand as yet. That poor woman—!” she added, sighing.