"Of course not, but you said in joke the other day you would take it with you on one of your trips, and put it out to nurse. I wish to heaven, Léon, you'd do it in reality. It is no use my sending it to anyone near here; Mathilde would go after it the next day. My only chance is to send it somewhere where it will be safe, of course, and well looked after, but where Mathilde can't go after it, and as she would go to the end of the world for it if she knew where it was, it must go where she can't find it; she must not know where it is. No one, indeed, need know but you, for as far as I am concerned the less I know about it at present the better; it has spoilt all my happiness. Mathilde is so wrapped up in that child she does not care a fig for me now; in fact, I rarely see her. If you can only put that infant safely out of our way for a year or two, I'll never forget it, Léon."
"Are you in real sober earnest, Arnaut?" asked Léon, who, in his astonishment, had risen to his feet, and was puffing away vigorously at his cigar.
"Of course I am. I am willing to pay handsomely for it, and I shall depend upon you putting it where it will be well taken care of. As for all the rest, I leave it to you to take it where you like—Australia if you wish, only don't tell me where it is, or I might cut my own throat by telling Mathilde if she makes a great scene, as she will when it is gone. Will you do it, Léon?"
"Whew!" whistled Léon. "I don't care for the work, for if anything should happen to the child Mathilde would never forgive me nor you either. However, if you insist, I think I could manage it, but as I am going to start in two or three hours, there is not much time. I must go down to the yacht and speak to my men first. If I may tell them I am taking the child by your express wish I could manage it, I think. The next difficulty is where to take it, but I have an idea about that, so I'll be off now, and see what I can arrange. I shall ride, so I shall be back in an hour."
"Tell them anything you like, except not to let anyone know where you leave the child," replied the baron, as Léon started on an errand which, in spite of his protest to the contrary, was thoroughly after his own heart; indeed, any mad freak such as this was quite in his line.
Among his crew he had an English sailor who acted as carpenter, and, as Léon often said, was worth two or three French sailors in a gale or an emergency. He knew the Channel, too, as well as a pilot, and, indeed often acted in that capacity; he was an honest, trustworthy man—at least, so Léon thought; and as he rode over the hills to Carolles, he decided to take this man into his confidence, and see if he could help him; it was possible this Englishman knew of some of his own countrywomen who would undertake the charge of the child.
Accordingly, when he reached his yacht, Léon called for John Smith, and had a long conversation with him in English, which he spoke fairly well, the result of which was the carpenter, after a little thought, declared he knew of a shepherd and his wife in Sussex who, he felt sure, would undertake the charge of the child; his only fear was that they might have some scruples about keeping the matter a secret, and might want to know who the child was; but if Léon would leave this to him to arrange, he could, he thought, manage it so that the shepherd should have no idea to whom the child belonged, nor why it was put into his care.
"Where does this good man live?" asked Léon.
"About four or five miles from Brighton, sir. The wind is favourable; we might run across in twenty-four hours or less if it lasts, and I think it will; we shall have the tide with us going out if we start at ten to-night," said the carpenter.
"Well, that is settled. Now the next point is, who is to take care of it on board? It must be fed; who of our men understands babies best?"