Annette could only cling to the chair for support. Her mouth and throat were too dry for speech.
“Somebody has killed Mother Chevreuse!” The girl slipped down to her knees, and hid her face a moment. Nothing had happened to Lawrence, thank God! Then she stood up, shocked and grieved indeed, but no longer powerless.
“Will you tell me what it is, John?” she asked, turning to the man. “Tell me all you know about it.”
Her mother’s noise and volubility were too irritating.
John’s story was soon told. Lawrence Gerald, having been awakened by a messenger from the priest’s house, had been up there to call them before going for F. Chevreuse. He wished some of them to come down immediately.
Annette’s mind was clear and prompt in any emergency which did not touch her too nearly. She saw at once all that was necessary to be done.
“Ma, please don’t take all the attention to yourself,” she said rather impatiently. “It isn’t you who are killed. Try to think of what should be done. John, you and Bettie will go down with me. The rest of you lock the house securely, and let no one in whom you don’t know. Louis and Jack will take care of you.”
Bettie flew with alacrity to prepare herself, willing to brave all perils in the company of John; but, coming down again, found that her mistress was also going. There was no help for it. The servant-maid fell humbly into the rear, while Mrs. Ferrier clung to the arm of the footman, and saw an assassin in every shadow. At sight of a man hurrying up the hill toward them, she cried out, and would have fled if her daughter had not held her.
“Nonsense, ma! it’s Lawrence,” Annette said, and went to meet the breathless messenger.