“Let us go over to the chest and sit down!” said Lisle, who was trying not to show his emotion and his unbounded surprise, but he failed in this, for they could all see that he was fairly dazed. He sat down on the chest with Marie Josephine beside him, and in spite of her dust and grime, he kept his arm close about her. Then he beckoned to Jean. “Come and sit on the other side, won’t you, Jean?” he said.
Dian had gone over to the heap of rugs, and coming back with a soft brown one, put it on the floor in front of the chest. Jean sat down on it with his legs crosswise.
“You sit down between us on the chest, Dian,” suggested Marie Josephine excitedly. “We can talk and talk but I don’t know where to begin. There are so many things I want to tell and to hear about!”
It was true. It was all so strange and unreal, the journey, their coming through the gates meeting Dian, then the alley, an odd dark room, a funny fat man, whose name was Humphrey Trail and who was Lisle’s friend, and with him Rosanne! Then the walk through the noisy streets with Dian to her own home, to the secret cellar!
Marie Josephine had to be the one to talk first. She talked so fast and said so much that her words fairly tumbled over themselves, but her hearers were so interested that they did not miss one of them! Jean sat listening as eagerly as any one, nodding his head vigorously every now and then, and blushing at Marie Josephine’s praise of him. They drank in all she had to tell them of that spring night less than a week ago when she had dressed herself in the disguise which she had been all winter in procuring, and which she told them would furnish a story all of itself. She told of the pitiful whine of Flambeau when she had come away and left him, of the last glimpse of Mother Barbette’s cottage, and then of her words to Grigge. She told of the run through the sweet, night air of their dear Pigeon Valley, and finally of finding Jean just behind her!
When she reached this stage in her narrative she stopped for sheer lack of breath and Dian stood up, saying:
“You both need food, Little Mademoiselle. I shall prepare it.”
At these words of Dian’s Jean cried, “Bravo!”
Marie Josephine gave a happy little laugh. “Yes, we do, and I’ll stop talking altogether for a few minutes.” She turned toward her brother as she spoke. He was sitting with his head thrown back against the grey stone wall, his hands at his sides. He wore one of the dark velvet suits which brought back memories of the schoolroom. Dian had found it upstairs and had brought it down to him. Marie Josephine had only been told that Lisle was safe in the hidden cellar. She knew nothing of the baker shop. As she turned to look at him, he smiled back at her, the first time since he had smiled at the bakery woman over the cake. He was so astounded at what she had done, that he could scarcely believe it was not all a dream. What was it Dian had said there by the panel, that wonderful smile on his face?—“think of the protection that has been with you.” Marie Josephine and Jean had come safely through to the heart of Paris. His sister was sitting there beside him in a disguise which she had thought of and carried out herself. She had known high adventure, and she told it all simply as an interesting story, without a trace of vainglory.
“Why did you come, Marie Josephine? Was it because of the hidden cellar?” Lisle asked her, and Dian, as he bent over his cooking in a far corner of the room, listened for her reply. He had built a small fire in a rough hollow of the floor and he was brewing chocolate. The fire made some smoke but not enough to cause discomfort, drifting off into the dim recesses of the alcoves beyond.