"I suppose so."
"And can we not, if we take time, find means to learn when that becomes the case? Can we not, by careful investigation, make sure whether he is still watching the convent or whether he has an informant there? Can we not enter into communication with the Mother Superior, and find out what her attitude is toward you,—whether, if you returned, your residence there would be safe and kept secret? Surely she would not betray you."
"Oh, no; whatever attitude she took, she would tell me the truth."
"Then it is only necessary to wait a few months and take those measures, without letting your own whereabouts be known even to the Mother Superior."
"But meanwhile would you have me continue doing as I have done since my flight,—passing as something I am not, receiving the protection—living on the very bounty—of the one person in all the world from whom I should accept nothing? Why, Monsieur, if it were known—if no more than the mere truth were told—would it not seem to justify the Count de Lavardin?"
"I do not ask you to do as you have done. For only two or three days you need pass as a boy. You may then not only resume the habit of a woman, but enjoy the company and friendship of a woman as saintly as yourself. Your presence in her house must be a secret till affairs mend, but you may be sure that if her friendship for you were known, it would be a sufficient answer to anything your husband or the world might say against you."
"It is of your mother that you speak. But I told you before, it is not from you that I dare accept so much."
"It will be from my mother, who will believe me when I tell her the truth, and who will take you as her guest and friend for your own sake. As for me, my affairs in Paris will keep me from La Tournoire while you are there:—for consider, what I propose now is not what you refused that night we fled from Lavardin. I spoke then of your making La Tournoire your refuge for an indefinite time,—the rest of your life, if need be:—I speak now of your staying there only till your safe residence at the convent can be assured,—only a few months, or weeks."
Though I had begun and ended by speaking of the convent, I did so merely with the object of inducing her to go to La Tournoire. Once there, she would be under the guidance and persuasion of my mother, who could influence her to remain till the Count's death removed all danger.
"You must not refuse, Madame," I went on. "God has shown that He does not desire your death, and it must be His will that you should accept this plan, so clear and simple. Speak, Madame!"