“C’est vous, mon mari?”
“Of course it is. Who else could it be? You don’t expect the Father, our only visitor, to-night? You’ll not see him for several days to come.”
“He’s gone then?”
“Two hours ago. By this he should be miles away; unless he and Coracle have had a capsize, and been spilled out of their boat. No unlikely occurrence with the river running so madly.”
She still shows unsatisfied, though not from any apprehension of the boat’s being upset. She is thinking of what may have happened at the Welsh Harp; for the long interval, since the priest’s departure, her husband could only have been there. She is less anxious however, seeing the state in which he presents himself; so unusual coming from the “auberge maudite.”
“Two hours ago they got off, you say?”
“About that; just as it was dark enough to set out with safety, and no chance of being observed.”
“They did so?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Le bagage bien arrangé?”