six o’clock this morning,” the old fellow went on. “And the duke—ah, take care how you come near him, sir! Oh, it’s a kettle of fish! For as I came I met that coxcomb Lafleur riding back with a message from the duke’s guests that they would not come to-day! So the duchess is gone, and the ladies are not come; and the duke—he has nothing to do but curse that whippersnapper of a Pierre who came last night.”
And Jean ended in a rapturous hoarse chuckle.
“You were riding so fast, then, because you were after the duchess?” I suggested.
“I rode fast for fear,” said Jean, with a shrewd smile, “that I should stop somewhere on the road. Well, I have looked in Avranches. She is not in Avranches. I’ll go home again.”
Marie Delhasse came close to my side.
“Ask him,” she said to me, “if he speaks of the Duchess of Saint-Maclou.”
I put the question as I was directed.
“You couldn’t have guessed better if you’d known,” said Jean; and a swift glance from Marie Delhasse told me that her suspicion as to my knowledge was aroused.
“And what will happen, Jean?” said I.
“The good God knows,” shrugged Jean. Then, remembering perhaps my five-franc pieces, he said politely, “I hope you are well, sir?”
“Up to now, thank you, Jean,” said I.
His glance traveled to Marie. I saw his
