"I do understand," said my lady unexpectedly. "And—you need not explain. I overheard you talking with her that night of the banquet!"
"Your Ladyship!" startled.
"And I heard you speak of her father, Pierre Laroche, friend of the Black Seigneur."
"And engaged her—after that!"
"Why not? I could watch—and I have! But you were wrong, Marie." My lady's manner was feverish. "Your suspicions were ridiculous. There has been nothing—nothing! And day after to-morrow is the wedding celebration, and the next day, he, the Black Seigneur—" She broke off abruptly.
Had Marie been less wrought up, less excited, less concerned with the information she had to impart, she could not have failed to notice the odd break in her young mistress' voice; something unusual, almost akin to despair, in her manner. As it was, that which weighed on the old nurse's mind precluded close observation of the other.
"But something has happened, my Lady!" the woman half stammered.
"Comment!" The girl turned to her sharply. "What? Explain, Marie!"
Disconnectedly, the woman launched into a narration of the events of the night before; my lady listened closely, with an interest and excitement she strove to conceal, half turning so that the other saw no longer her face.
"And here," ended Marie, extending a crumpled fragment of paper, "is a piece of the note she dropped on the beach. The man tore it up, but in thrusting the bits of paper into his pocket this fell out, and, after he walked away, I picked it up myself from the sand. I can't read, as your Ladyship knows, and there isn't much on it—only a word or two! But it may tell something."