“Life, for one,” he acknowledged. “I confess that I am finding it bewildering. The very explanations calculated to simplify it seem but to complicate it further.” And he looked at Mme. de Plougastel.
“You mean something, I suppose,” said mademoiselle.
“Aline!” It was the Countess who spoke. She knew the danger of half-discoveries. “I can trust you, child, I know, and Andre-Louis, I am sure, will offer no objection.” She had taken up the letter to show it to Aline. Yet first her eyes questioned him.
“Oh, none, madame,” he assured her. “It is entirely a matter for yourself.”
Aline looked from one to the other with troubled eyes, hesitating to take the letter that was now proffered. When she had read it through, she very thoughtfully replaced it on the table. A moment she stood there with bowed head, the other two watching her. Then impulsively she ran to madame and put her arms about her.
“Aline!” It was a cry of wonder, almost of joy. “You do not utterly abhor me!”
“My dear,” said Aline, and kissed the tear-stained face that seemed to have grown years older in these last few hours.
In the background Andre-Louis, steeling himself against emotionalism, spoke with the voice of Scaramouche.
“It would be well, mesdames, to postpone all transports until they can be indulged at greater leisure and in more security. It is growing late. If we are to get out of this shambles we should be wise to take the road without more delay.”
It was a tonic as effective as it was necessary. It startled them into remembrance of their circumstances, and under the spur of it they went at once to make their preparations.