"Then ask his servant to tell you where the man to whom this letter is addressed lives."
"And if he does not know?"
"Ah, Marie, I cannot tell what you are to do then. Take the letter, hide it away. Heaven grant it reaches its destination."
Marie stood with the letter in her hand.
"Who's it to? I cannot read, mademoiselle, but if I know the name, I may find him even if the servant doesn't know."
"It is addressed to Monsieur Richard Barrington," said Jeanne.
The girl put the letter into her pocket, and patted her dress to emphasize the security of the hiding-place.
"I'll go to-morrow. I have a holiday all day; that gives me plenty of time to find the man who loves mademoiselle. Richard Barrington; I shall not forget the name."
"Not my lover, Marie."
"Ah, mademoiselle, why pretend with me? Yours is not the first secret I have kept."