“It is wonderful!” she had said to Madame Bihari. “And to think that any possible harm might come to it! This indeed is too terrible!”
She was thinking of all this when her eye caught sight of a person approaching rapidly. It was Hugo.
“You are Petite Jeanne,” he said. He appeared to be in great haste.
“Yes, I—”
“I am a friend of Florence,” he said, casting his spell with a beaming smile.
“A friend of Florence is my friend.”
“Ah!” One might have detected in the man’s deep intake of breath a feeling of great relief.
“Then you will help me!” he exclaimed.
“But yes, if I may.” Jeanne was on her feet.
“If you would but take me a short distance in your plane—it will not require an hour—you will be back before dark.” Hugo talked rapidly as one in great haste.