“Two livres to the man who will fetch the boat!” Count Hannibal cried.
In less than half a minute three men had thrown off their boots, and were swimming across, amid the laughter and shouts of their fellows. In five minutes the boat was brought.
It was not large and would hold no more than four. Tavannes’ eye fell on Carlat.
“You understand a boat,” he said. “Go with Madame St. Lo. And you, M. La Tribe.”
“But you are coming?” Madame St. Lo cried, turning to the Countess. “Oh, Madame,” with a curtsey, “you are not? You—”
“Yes, I will come,” the Countess answered.
“I shall bathe a short distance up the stream,” Count Hannibal said. He took from his belt the packet of letters, and as Carlat held the boat for Madame St. Lo to enter, he gave it to the Countess, as he had given it to her yesterday. “Have a care of it, Madame,” he said in a low voice, “and do not let it pass out of your hands. To lose it may be to lose my head.”
The colour ebbed from her cheeks. In spite of herself her shaking hand put back the packet. “Had you not better then—give it to Bigot?” she faltered.
“He is bathing.”
“Let him bathe afterwards.”