The two stood in silence until the sound of a door closing came from the farther end of the house.
'You have the same dread,' said Marion heavily. 'I can see it. I had hoped perhaps 'twas my nervous fancy that, like a colt, shies at every stone in the path.'
She sat down on the low window seat.
'He bears a letter,' said Simone suddenly.
'And 'tis not in his pocket, or he would have slapped it bravely. 'Tis in his saddlebags.'
'In the stable, Mademoiselle?'
'In the harness room, I expect, next to the stable. I noted the place when we were waiting.'
Marion buried her face in her hands. A silence fell on the little chamber. The sound of laughter and voices rose from the room below.
'Mademoiselle,' presently came Simone's whisper, 'this is unbearable. Perhaps we are both mistaken. Our thoughts naturally go the same way. If you saw the letter, you would know. Let me find it for you.'
'No,' said Marion firmly, lifting her head. 'No hand is laid to such an action but my own. I take myself whatever risk may befall. And if I do it, I must do it at once, before the light fails—and before delay makes a coward of me. I had already thought of it. 'Twould appear easy enough; the men abroad, the servant girls in bed. And if I am discovered, I must be looking at Jennifer's knees.'