A wood fire was blazing, and even in that
doubtful light it might have been seen that the girl's eyes were
swollen with crying. She was not crying now, but was looking into
the fire with a set, determined look in her face.
"I don't care," she said; "they may kill me at Saint Marie, but I
will never say yes. Oh, if papa were but here."
At that moment there was a knock at the door, and a bright-looking
waiting maid entered.
"A note, mademoiselle, from Mademoiselle d'Etamps--and
mademoiselle," and she put her finger mysteriously to her lips, "it
is a new lackey has brought it. I told him to come again in ten
minutes for an answer; for I thought it better he should not come
in to be looked at by Francois and Jules."
"Why not, Margot?" Adele asked in great surprise.
"Because, mademoiselle, he seemed to me--I may be wrong, you
know--but he seemed to me very, very like--"
"Like whom, Margot? How mysterious you are."
"Like the English officer," Margot said, with an arch nod.
Adele leapt to her feet.
"You must be mad, Margot. There, light a candle."
But without waiting, Adele knelt down close to the fire, and broke
open the letter.
A flush, even ruddier than that given by the fire, mounted over her
face.
"It is him, Margot. He has come from my father. Now we are to do
what I told you about. We are to go off tonight under his charge,
to your mother's, my dear old nurse, and there I am to live with
you, and be as your cousin, till papa can get me out of the
country.
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