"But he cannot, I tell you," said the other quietly; "he is in the prison of Tarragona!"
"Well, then, let him write!" said Claire, "why does he not write?"
Valentine la Niña produced a piece of paper, and handed it to Claire without a word. It was in John d'Albret's clear, clerkly hand. Claire and he had capped verses too often together by the light of Madame Granier's pine-cones for any mistake. She knew it instantly.
"Whatever this lady says is true, and if you have any feeling in your heart for your father, or love for me, do as she bids you!
"Jean d'Albret de Bourbon."
Three times Claire read the message to make sure.
Then she spoke. "What do you wish me to do? I am ready!"
"You will give this man up to me?"
"He never was mine to give, but if he had been, he is free to go—because he wills it!"
"I put my life in danger for him now—every moment I stay here," said Valentine la Niña; "Jean-aux-Choux will tell you so. Will you walk to the gates of death with me to deliver him whom you love?"
"I will," said Claire, "I will obey you—that is, I will obey him through you!"