“No,” she laughed back, as he settled himself on the divan. “I will fill your big mouth with a handful of snow. Au revoir, Monsieur.”
He waved one large hand, but he was already half asleep. De Richleau and Simon had put on their furs and left the cottage with the girl.
She led them along a narrow path through the woods and across the high-road, then by a cart-track through thicker woods to a place where two great stone pillars showed faintly in the starlight. To one a big wrought-iron gate still clung, rusted and broken, half overgrown with brambles. Here she paused.
“This is the entrance to the grounds,” she said, in a low voice. “It is too dark to see from here, but the house is straight ahead from where we stand. Are you certain that you can find your way back to the cottage?”
“Certain, Mademoiselle,” De Richleau replied, softly.
The night was utterly still and they were quite alone, but instinctively they spoke with lowered voices. “We shall hope to return within an hour, but this is a strange country — may we know your name? We have to thank you for such very great kindness.”
“My name is Marie Louise, but my mother’s name for me when we were alone was the Princess Marie Lou. It is pretty, that, do you not think?”
“Enchanting.” The Duke raised her little hand to his lips: “Princess, I am the very humblest of your servants.”
With Simon she shook hands, as he murmured his gratitude.
“Au revoir, Messieurs, et bonne fortune,” she laughed, gaily. “I will take care of your big friend!” A moment later her little figure disappeared in the shadows.