Next day he climbed up again to the terrace. Aurelie did not come; and she did not come the two following days. But on the fourth day she parted the branches without his having heard the sound of her coming.
“Oh, it’s you—it’s you at last!” he said.
He gathered from her attitude that he was not to advance a step or say a word which might ruffle her sensibilities. She stood as on the first day like an opponent who revolts against being dominated and is angry with an enemy for the service he is rendering.
However her tone was less hard when, with half averted head, she said: “I ought not to have come. It is not fair to my benefactors, the Sisters of Sainte-Marie. But I thought that I ought to thank you—and help you.” She paused, then added: “Besides, I’m frightened, really frightened—frightened by what you said to me. Question me—I will answer.”
“Question you about everything?” he asked.
“No, no!” she said in a tone of anguish. “Not [[126]]about the night at Beaucourt. But about the other things. As shortly as you can, please. What is it you want to know?”
Ralph reflected. The questions were not easy to put since all of them must tend to throw light on the matter of which she refused to speak.
He began: “First of all what is your name?”
“Aurelie—Aurelie d’Asteux.”
“Then why that name of Leonide Balli? Was it a pseudonym?”