“Tarry but a moment, Mademoiselle,” I cried, with a sudden note of command. “Or, if you will go, go then; but take with you my assurance that before nightfall you will weep bitterly for it.”
My words arrested her. The mystery of them awakened her curiosity.
“You speak in riddles, Monsieur.”
“Like a true wizard, Mademoiselle. You received a letter this morning in a handwriting unknown, and bearing no signature.”
She wheeled round and faced me again with a little gasp of astonishment.
“How know you that? Ah! I understand; you wrote it!”
“What shrewdness, Mademoiselle!” I laughed, ironically. “Come; think again. What need have I to bid you meet me in the coppice yonder? May I not speak freely with you here?”
“You know the purport of that letter?”
“I do, Mademoiselle, and I know more. I know that this hinted conspiracy against your father is a trumped-up lie to lure you to the coppice.”
“And for what purpose, pray?”