What a dreadful thought! "I
am so sorry, Mamzelle," she faltered. "Indeed, it is not my fault. I had
to promise. I was not to tell any one till we went to Nantes. I kept
hoping we would go. Now we never shall. And I do want to tell them."
Here was a clew and Mademoiselle's quick wit followed it. "Is it that
you mean, Anne," she asked, "that some one--a person whose wish had the
right to be regarded--told you that you might explain the matter to your
guardian when you went to Nantes?"
"Yes, Mamzelle, that was it," Anne responded eagerly. "He said I might
tell then."
"He," mused Mademoiselle. "Who, Anne?"
Anne did not answer.
"Where were you when he told you this?"
Anne hesitated, debating with herself whether her uncle would wish her
to tell. Mademoiselle changed the question.
"When he had you to promise that, were you expecting to go to Nantes?"
"Yes, Mamzelle." Anne was sure she might answer this. "And then seeing
Dr. La Farge changed all the plans, you know."
Mademoiselle nodded her head. Yes, she knew. "I begin to understand some
of the affair, Anne," she said, thinking intently and putting her
thoughts into slow English. "I think you have been making the mistake.
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