Half unconsciously I leaned against the door, and, I was sure of it, the faint sound of receding footsteps came to me from the stairway beyond. If I heard right she must have waited until the last moment, and heard every word of what had passed between her husband and myself—and—what a villain I must have seemed!
I could bear to be there no longer, but hastened back to the study and rang for Badehorn. He was faithful and discreet, and I could trust him with my life.
“Badehorn,” I said when he came, “we must leave Paris to-night.”
“Monsieur!”
“Can you get three horses without any one in the house knowing it?”
“Monsieur has forgotten that there are horses of his kept ready at Maître Barov’s.”
“Ah! I grow foolish! Is there one fit for a lady to ride?”
“There is the gray that Madame de Marcilly rode——”
“Enough! Be in waiting for me with the horses under the limes, near the riding school of the Louvre, by nine to-night. I will join you there—and Badehorn—not a word to a soul—this is life or death.”
“Does Monsieur mistrust me?”