And so, sitting there in the tinted glare, I told her of the death of Delmont and of Tavernier, and of Buckhurst’s share in the miserable work.
I spoke in a whisper scarcely louder than the rustle of the flames, watching the horror growing in her face.
I told her that the money she had intrusted to them 355 for the Red Cross was in my possession, and would be forwarded at the first chance; that I hoped to bring Buckhurst to justice that very night.
“Madame, I am paining you,” I said; “but I am going to cause you even greater unhappiness.”
“Tell me what is necessary,” she said, forming the words with tightened lips.
“Then I must tell you that it is necessary for Mademoiselle Elven to leave Trécourt to-night.”
She looked at me as though she had not heard.
“It is absolutely necessary,” I repeated. “She must go secretly. She must leave her effects; she must go in peasant’s dress, on foot.”
“Why?”
“It is better that I do not tell you, madame.”