"Listen!" she whispered hurriedly. "I shall meet you to-night at ten o'clock, at the end of the avenue of maples near to your inn; you know the place? Bien! Bring me the paper there, to prove that you trust me. And I—mais non, I implore you—go quickly!"
Dan turned at last and opened the door. Madame de la Fontaine called sharply to the waiting Jean, and he, motioning to Dan to follow him, led the way on deck. In a moment they were in a little boat heading for the shore. The afternoon sun was bright in the western sky. The Southern Cross rode serenely at anchor, and from her deck, Madame de la Fontaine was waving him good-bye.
CHAPTER XVII
THE MARQUIS LEAVES THE INN
By the time Dan was put ashore on the beach of the Cove it was afternoon. During the short row from the schooner he had been unable to exchange remarks with the surly Jean, for that individual's only response to his repeated efforts, was a surly "Je ne parle pas anglais," which seemed to answer as a general formula to the conspirators. He gave up at last in disgust, and waited impatiently for the small boat to be beached, distrustful lest at the last moment some fresh trick be played upon him. Not that his ingenuous faith in the beautiful French lady failed him, but he was suspicious lest, having acted independently of the Marquis and Captain Bonhomme in releasing him, she should not have the power to make that release genuinely effective.
But his apprehensions were groundless. The seaman rowed straight for the shore, beached the boat with a last sturdy pull at the oars, and leaping out into the curling surf, held the skiff steady.
"Thank you very much," said Dan, shaking the spray from his coat.
"Eh?" grunted Jean.
"Oh!—beg pardon!—merci," he explained, exaggerating the pronunciation of the French word.