“Not a bit of it; and what is more, didn't want to be; and judging from the remarks of Prudence, I should say, of the two, rather preferred the plague.”
“Then why was she going to do it? You don't mean to say she was forced?”
“Ah, but I do, though! Prudence owned it with the most charming candor in the world.”
“Did you hear the name of the person she was to have married?” asked Sir Norman, with kindling eyes.
“I think not; they called him the count, if my memory serves me, and Prudence intimated that he knew nothing of the melancholy fate of Mistress Leoline. Most likely it was the person in the cloak and slouched hat we saw talking to the watchman.”
Sir Norman said nothing, but he thought a good deal, and the burden of his thoughts was an ardent and heartfelt wish that the Court L'Estrange was once more under the swords of the three robbers, and waiting for him to ride to the rescue—that was all!
“La Masque urged Prudence to go back,” continued Ormiston; “but Prudence respectfully declined, and went her way bemoaning the fate of her darling. When she was gone, I stepped up to Madame Masque, and that lady's first words of greeting were an earnest hope that I had been edified and improved by what I had overheard.”
“She saw you, then?” said Sir Norman.
“See me? I believe you! She has more eyes than ever Argus had, and each one is as sharp as a cambric needle. Of course I apologized, and so on, and she forgave me handsomely, and then we fell to discoursing—need I tell you on what subject?”
“Love, of course,” said Sir Norman.