CHAPTER XXXVI
HOW A STORM CAME OUT OF THE WEST
"Thank God, you have escaped them!" was my mother's grateful greeting as we came into Belfontaine. "But you have suffered! You are starving?"
"Not a bit, little mother," chirped Carette, as they kissed very warmly. "We have been quite happy, though, ma fé, it was as dark and still as the tomb, and there is a spring in there that is enough to frighten one into a fit. And George Hamon here is trying to make us believe this is only Thursday, and it is certain we have been in there at least a week."
"It is only Thursday," smiled my mother. "But the time must have seemed long in the dark and all by yourselves."
"Oh, we didn't mind being by ourselves, not a bit, and we never quarrelled once. But, ma fé, yes, it was dark, and so still. I could hear Phil's heart beat when I couldn't see him."
"You both look as if you had been seeing ghosts. Is it that your arm is paining you, Phil, mon gars?"