At that she swung around and regarded me strangely, mirth lurking in her eyes. She seemed about to retort, and then to conquer the impulse. The effect of this was to make me anything but self-complacent. She sat down in the chair and for a little while she was silent.
“Suppose we do find them,” she said suddenly. “What shall we do with them?” She looked up at me questioningly, seriously. “Is it likely that your Mr. Temple will be reconciled with his mother? Is it likely that he is still in love with Antoinette?”
“I think it is likely that he is still in love with Mademoiselle de St. Gré,” I answered, “though I have no reason for saying so.”
“You are very honest, Mr. Ritchie. We must look at this problem from all sides. If he is not reconciled with his mother, Antoinette will not receive him. And if he is, we have the question to consider whether he is still worthy of her. The agents of Providence must not be heedless,” she added with a smile.
“I am sure that Nick would alter his life if it became worth living,” I said. “I will answer for that much.”
“Then he must be reconciled with his mother,” she replied with decision. “Mrs. Temple has suffered enough. And he must be found before he gets sufficiently into the bad graces of the Baron de Carondelet,—these two things are clear.” She rose. “Come here to-morrow evening at the same time.”
She started quickly for the bedroom door, but something troubled me still.
“Madame—” I said.
“Yes,” she answered, turning quickly.
I did not know how to begin. There were many things I wished to say, to know, but she was a woman whose mind seemed to leap the chasms, whose words touched only upon those points which might not be understood. She regarded me with seeming patience.