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60 shriveled lips curl; his expression was ominous of an unfortunate remark.

“Good-by!” said I significantly.

Jean had some wits. He spared me the remark, but not the sly leer that had been made to accompany it. He clapped his heels to his horse’s side and trotted off in the direction from which he had come. So that he could swear he had been to Avranches, he was satisfied!

Marie Delhasse turned to me, asking haughtily:

“What is the meaning of this? What do you know of the Duke or Duchess of Saint-Maclou?”

“I might return your question,” said I, looking her in the face.

“Will you answer it?” she said, flushing red.

“No, Mlle. Delhasse, I will not,” said I.

“What is the meaning of this ‘absence’ of the Duchess of Saint-Maclou which that man talks about so meaningly?”

Then I said, speaking low and slow:

“Who are the friends whom you are on your way to visit?”

“Who are you?” she cried. “What do you know about it? What concern is it of yours?”

There was no indolence or lack of animation in her manner now. She questioned me with imperious indignation.

“I will answer not a single word,” said I. “But—you asked me last night what I had heard of you.”

“Well?” she said, and shut her lips tightly on the word.