Part 15 (2/2)
Heedless of my attire, I rushed to a back window and repeated my command.
The bell stopped.
”Who are you that you dare wake us like that!” I scolded.
A boy between eighteen and nineteen let go the rope and stepped beneath the window. I could see his blond hair in the moonlight.
”Are you Madame Huard?”
”Yes.”
”I've come with a message from your husband.”
I grew cold as ice. Good G.o.d, what had happened?
V
In a bound I was down stairs and had opened the front door.
”Is H. wounded?” I gasped.
”No, Madame.”
I breathed again.
”Where was he when you saw him?”
”On the road between Villers-Cotterets and La Ferte Milon.”
”What's your message?”
The boy put his hand to his breast pocket and drew forth a slip of paper. The full moon s.h.i.+ning on the white facade of the chateau threw such a brilliant reflection that I recognized a sheet from a sketch book, and could distinguish the following words scribbled in pencil:
”Give bearer fifty francs, then in the name of the love you bear me, evacuate now; go south, not Paris.”
The last words were underscored three or four times.
”What time was it when H. gave you this?”
”Noon or thereabouts.”
”How did you come? On foot?”
”No, bicycle.”
”But it's after midnight!”
<script>