Lord Rupert coughed. “Anything else, my dear?” he asked, with delicacy.
“Nothing,” said Léonie. “It is very curious, do you not think? For where can the girl be?”
“That’s what beats me,” confessed Rupert. “Not but what I never thought to find her here. But if she’s not, why is Vidal? That’s what I don’t understand. Now, I’ve been talking to the grooms. All I can find is that Vidal left Paris by the Port Royal to-day. Naturally, I don’t like to ask ’em point-blank if he’d a wench with him, and none of ’em — ”
“Why not?” interrupted the Duchess.
“Burn it, you can’t ask lackeys questions like that, Léonie!”
“I do not see why not. I want to know, and if I do not ask who will tell me?”
“They’ll never tell you, anyway, my dear,” his lordship informed her.
Dinner was over when Fletcher at last put in an appearance, and Rupert and Léonie had repaired to the library. Fletcher came in, sedate as ever, and begged her grace’s pardon for having been out when she arrived. Léonie brushed that aside, and once more demanded to know her son’s whereabouts.
“I think, your grace,” he answered guardedly, “that his lordship has gone to Dijon.”
Lord Rupert stared at him. “What in the fiend’s name does he want in Dijon?” he asked.