V
THE SLIPPER IS RETURNED
To scramble down the ivy was the work of a few seconds. The faithful Bucknall was waiting. Without a word we bounded across the park and the bribed turnkey let us out. As for me I was treading on air. I had never been so happy since I was a boy. Never would she have given me that little slipper, against which my heart throbbed madly, if I had been indifferent to her. Did I intend to give it to du Trémigon? Never! I should let him do his worst. Something would happen. I should get out of it in some way.
When we reached the inn we found our horses ready. After we were safely mounted old Bucknall broke the silence.
“Did ye git it, yer honor?” asked the old sailor.
“Get it, Bucknall? Do you remember me telling you of the lady whom I saved from highwaymen on the road to Paris?”
I had to tell someone. It would have killed me not to have been able to confide in a soul, and Bucknall was faithful and devoted beyond the ordinary.
“I remembers it well, sir.”
“She was the lady in the house yonder.”
“You don’t say so, sir!”
“I love her, Bucknall!”