"Ha, ha! you have done what the old gouvernante could not do," cried the boy.
"What, did she try to open it?" asked Estoc, turning over the pages.
"Ay, that she did, the nasty old wolf," replied the page; "and she kept me for two hours waiting in the hall, because she did not choose either to get up and fetch it, or let me. Ah! what have you got there?"
"What I seek," answered Estoc, giving the boy back the book, and putting a letter, which he had taken from between the leaves, in his pocket. "Now, master Philip," he continued, "take the book on to your mistress, and give it to her, without telling her that you have met with any one, or that any one has looked into it."
"She will know that, without any telling," answered the boy in a gloomy tone. "She will find out, in a minute, that the paper has been taken out, and perhaps have me hanged for stealing it, as she did Gabriel Houlot for robbing her of her gold bonbonnière, which was under the pillow of the coach all the time."
"Fear not, fear not!" said Estoc; "she does not know that there was anything in it: and it is to prevent her from knowing it, that I take the paper."
"But father Walter knows," rejoined the boy; "and he will tell her."
"No, no, he will not," replied Estoc. "But, to satisfy you, read that, if you can read."
"Oh, yes, I can!" said the page proudly; "good father Walter had me taught to read:" and, taking the paper which the priest had written, and which Estoc held out to him, he ran his eye over it rapidly. "Have I any regard for her?" he cried, as he saw the words referring to Helen, "Ah, that I have, poor thing! and would shed my blood to serve her, if it would do her any good. The old woman may hang me, if she likes; I will tell her nothing, the tiger!"
"That's a good youth," answered Estoc; "but, read it through."