“Here, Madame, is Captain Babache.”
Francezka was alone, but not without companionship. The dog Bold lay at her feet. Her harpsichord was open, a book lay by her on the table, and her fingers were busily employed on some fine needlework, for she was an expert needlewoman. I had schooled my countenance, but I verily believe, without levity, that there is something sinister in extreme ugliness, and it was that which gave old Peter the warning of evil, and also Francezka. As she heard my name, she sprang up, her vivid face breaking into a smile like sunlight, and she cried, in her sweet and penetrating voice:
“Oh, Babache, how glad I am to see you! And how is my lord? And where is the letter, for surely he has written me.”
I handed her silently the letter I had found on Gaston’s table. She snatched it from my hand, kissed the signature, and read it and re-read it, smiling joyfully all the while; then, for the first time, looking closely at me, her smile faded, her eyes grew anxious, and stepping forward, she laid her hand on my arm. She said not one word, but her eyes commanded me to speak. She told me afterward that the look in my face frightened 285 her so that she could hardly stand. But I, obeying the command in her eyes, told her every word concerning Gaston that I knew. She heard me to the end, and I could see that like all really courageous persons, she grew calmer as the danger got closer. When I had finished, she said to me in a steady voice:
“And you say, Babache, there is not the smallest evidence that my husband is dead?”
“Not the least, Madame. Not a handkerchief belonging to him has been found. There is a boom at the narrowest part of the river, below Hüningen, which would stop the body of a ferret, much less a man’s, and nothing has been found there.”
She drew a long breath of relief, and sat down, leaning her head on her hand—a favorite attitude of hers. The dog Bold, knowing as well as I that Francezka was troubled, lay down at her feet, and licked the half-open hand that hung at her side. I then told her that Count Saxe had directed me to place myself at her service.
“How good that was of him!” she said. “And you, of all persons, would be the most helpful to me, for, of course, I intend myself to go in search of my husband. Has Regnard been notified of Gaston’s disappearance?”
I replied that he had, but so far no word had come from him. Francezka reflected a little while. Then she said:
“Babache, you are the best and truest of souls, and are my chief dependence. But I think it would be an abuse of Count Saxe’s indulgence to keep you here. I can not, as Mademoiselle Capello, go in search of Gaston Cheverny. I shall have to assemble my friends 286 and neighbors and announce to them my marriage. Then I shall provide myself with a stout traveling chaise and travel to Hüningen, and search and search until I find my best beloved.”