Part 33 (1/2)

”I do not know. If you wish me to make a guess, I should say by Lucien Bruslart. You will know whether he had any doc.u.ment in his possession giving him such power.”

Jeanne knew that he had. She had trusted him fully. Even now she did not jump to the hasty conclusion that he had betrayed that trust. There might be a dozen good reasons why he had withdrawn the money; to save it from being misappropriated by the State consequent on the banker's possible arrest, or to spend carefully in arranging her escape. It was probably an accident that the messenger had not arrived with the money this week, and in preparation for escape it was quite likely that Lucien might let it be understood that he had left Paris. He would not be likely to confide in Monsieur Legrand. He would certainly not desert her.

”Will you tell me the amount due for next week?” she asked.

The doctor took a paper from a drawer and handed it to her. She uttered a sudden exclamation as she saw the amount.

”It is out of all reason,” she said.

”Mademoiselle, the security offered by this house may be said to be out of all reason too.”

”If this is paid, I remain a guest for another week?”

”Until next Sat.u.r.day.”

Jeanne took her purse and counted out the money. She had little left when it was done.

”Count it, Dr. Legrand, and give me the receipt.”

His eyes beamed as he counted and found the sum correct.

”I am happy again,” he said. ”So much may happen in a week. I a.s.sure you, mademoiselle, your ability to pay lifts years from my shoulders.”

”Yes, monsieur, I have bought a long respite,” Jeanne said, rising as she took the receipt. ”I doubt not much will happen in a week.”

As she went out and closed the door, Legrand placed the money in a drawer which he locked.

”It was a warning,” he muttered, ”and she has robbed me of seeming generous by promising to give her a week free of cost. She must have touched me in some way, or I should never have thought of giving her such a warning. It was a fortunate idea. Had I left it until next Sat.u.r.day she would have been able to pay for another week, and I should have been obliged to hunt for a pretext for refusing her money. She must be removed elsewhere next Sat.u.r.day. My little consideration, my wish to prepare her, has turned out well; besides, I have received double fees for this coming week. I cannot complain.”

Alone in her own room, Jeanne nearly broke down. The strain of the interview and all that it implied left her with little strength to fight the despair that settled upon her. Yet she held back the tears that threatened, and fought back the disposition to fling herself upon the mean little bed and give way to her grief. A week! Only a week! She had bought it at an enormous price and every hour in it was of immense value. If Lucien Bruslart were a traitor, she had still one friend in Paris. She was as sure of this as of the emblematic meaning of the small crucifix which she had hung above her bed. She must act. There was no time to give way to despair.

On sc.r.a.ps of paper she wrote a long letter, telling the whole history of the house in the Rue Charonne, how she came to be there, and the peril she was in. She sealed it, and then waited until she could get Marie alone.

”Marie, you promised to help me.”

”I meant it. What can I do, mademoiselle?”

Jeanne gave the girl minute instructions for finding the house in which the Marquis de Lafayette had his apartment, and Marie showed little sign of weak-mindedness as she listened.

”I know the house, mademoiselle.”

”Go there, say you come from me and ask to see him. Give him this letter and ask him to see that it is safely delivered.”

”And if he is away, mademoiselle?”

”Then ask his servant to tell you where the man to whom this letter is addressed lives.”

”And if he does not know?”

”Ah, Marie, I cannot tell what you are to do then. Take the letter, hide it away. Heaven grant it reaches its destination.”