“Monsieur!” she called after me. I halted.
“Mademoiselle?”
She stood demurely, with eyes downcast and hands folded. “I shall be so lonely here.”
I stood still. I seemed to stiffen. My heart gave a mad throb of hope, then seemed to stop. What did she mean? I faced her fully once more, and, I doubt not, I was very pale. Yet lest vanity should befool me, I dared not act upon suspicions. And so “True, mademoiselle,” said I. “You will be lonely. I regret it.”
As silence followed, I turned again to the door, and my hopes sank with each step in that direction.
“Monsieur!”
Her voice arrested me upon the very threshold.
“What shall a poor girl do with this great estate upon her hands? It will go to ruin without a man to govern it.”
“You must not attempt the task. You must employ an intendant.”
I caught something that sounded oddly like a sob. Could it be? Dieu! could it be, after all? Yet I would not presume. I half turned again, but her voice detained me. It came petulantly now.