"Not till after ten o'clock," murmured the girl.
Missy's heart sank; it was just forty-five minutes past eight o'clock. They had felt sure of safety if the child could be kept silent for that length of time, and had no doubt set an outside limit to her silence.
"You are quite right," said Missy, "in not breaking your promise. I suppose she thought you would be punished to make you tell, and she told you you must hold out till ten?"
Gabrielle nodded, perplexed at this reading of her mind.
"Always keep your word, even to wicked people," said Missy, getting up and smoothing out some papers that were lying open on the table. "You know I think Alphonsine is a wicked woman, but you must keep your word to her all the same, you know."
Gabrielle was quite reassured by this, and drew a freer breath.
"She told me I might tell after ten o'clock if I couldn't help it, and she'd give me—the—the—"
"I understand," said Missy, "the reward she offered. Well, now, I'll go and see about some things up-stairs, and you can come with me and put my ribbon box in order. And at ten o'clock I'll call you to come and tell me all about it."
Gabrielle brightened. She had rarely had access to Missy's sashes and ribbons; she longed to get at them, even at this agitated moment. While she was shut in Missy's room in this congenial occupation, Missy went down stairs and rapidly turned forward an hour the hands of the hall and parlor clocks; then waiting fifteen minutes in breathless suspense, called up to Gabrielle to come to her. She was sure the child would not have any correct estimate of time, and saw her glance without surprise at the clock on the mantelpiece, which pointed at ten.
"Now, I suppose you may tell me all about it," she said, trying to speak very indifferently. "Tell me when you first saw Alphonsine."