"I mean it to. Yes, her father——"
"But why. I don't understand."
Aline had been lighting the lamp. She looked up now, and the yellow flare showed the trouble in her face.
"Oh, ma tante," she breathed.
"Yes, child. Ange, wake up; don't you realise?"
"Mathieu suspects?" asked Aline quickly. "But how?"
"He saw you take the path to the château the other day. Saw, or thought he saw, a light in the west wing last night, and sent Madelon to find out how much we knew. A mischief-maker Mathieu, and a bad man,—devil take him."
"Oh, Marthe, don't. Madelon,—Madelon is as true as steel."
"Oh, yes, but mightily afraid of her father. She sat here with her round cheeks as white as curds, and cried, and begged me not to tell her anything;—as if I should be such a fool."
"Ah, poor Madelon," said Ange, "she must not distress herself like that, it is so bad for her just now."