Fairy Fingers. Anna Cora Ogden Mowatt Ritchie
"But how was the trunk conveyed hence?"
"I do not know, monsieur."
"Did you see Mademoiselle Madeleine the next morning?" inquired Bertha.
"No, mademoiselle. I could not help going to the châlet the first thing when I came out to work. I pushed the door open and looked in; the trunk was not there, and I knew that Mademoiselle Madeleine was gone too!"
"But did not Mademoiselle Madeleine drop some hint, even the faintest, of her plans?" asked Maurice, earnestly.
"I have told monsieur every word Mademoiselle Madeleine spoke to me on the subject."
"Some one must have aided her further! Who could it be? Who could it possibly be?" mused Maurice.
Baptiste was certain he knew who alone it could be; and he was pondering within himself whether he had the right to mention the note Madeleine had ordered him to deliver to M. de Bois. Her request had been that he would give no information he could honestly avoid; if it could be avoided, it was plain, then, that the intelligence ought not to be communicated.
"Has monsieur done with me?" he asked, as Maurice stood reflecting in silence.
"Yes, if you have nothing further to tell me."
"Nothing further, monsieur." Saying these words, Baptiste withdrew.
"After Madeleine was missed," said Bertha, when the old gardener was gone, "I was the first person who came to the châlet. I found a handkerchief lying just by this table. It was marked G. de Bois."
"Gaston de Bois! Then it is clear he was Madeleine's confidant. He promoted her flight!"
"So I thought, at first," rejoined Bertha; "but it seems this is not so. Your father took him the handkerchief, and he could not tell when or where he had lost it. He was amazed to hear that Madeleine had left us, and disclaimed all knowledge concerning her."
"Who, then, could it have been? But I will see M. de Bois myself."
"First let me tell you"—began Bertha, and faltered.
"Why do you hesitate? For Heaven's sake, dear Bertha, tell me everything which can throw the faintest glimmer of light upon the path Madeleine has taken."
"I do not know how to say what I was thinking; perhaps I ought not to allude to it at all; yet it seems as if it must be true. Do you not remember that Madeleine confessed she had bestowed her affections upon some one? Since they were not given to you, as I once believed, I cannot help imagining that perhaps she might—might have meant"—
"Gaston de Bois?"
"Yes."
Maurice did not answer, and Bertha could say no more. There was a painful struggle going on in her mind, though less torturing than that which convulsed the spirit of her cousin.
When he had somewhat recovered himself, he said—
"At all events I will see M. de Bois. If there is nothing to be learned from him, if he really knows nothing concerning Madeleine's departure, I must seek information at Rennes. There is no time to lose. I will call upon M. de Bois at once."
The cousins parted at the door of the châlet. Bertha turned toward the château, pausing on her way to talk with Baptiste; Maurice went in the direction of his neighbor's residence.
Count Tristan's visit had taken M. de Bois aback, chiefly because he was confounded by a new proof of his own awkwardness (stupidity, he plainly termed it) in leaving his handkerchief behind him, as a witness of his presence at the châlet. But there was no such confusing testimony to destroy his composure when he received Maurice. Besides, he had ample time to collect himself; for he was walking in the park when his valet announced that the young viscount was awaiting him in the library. He had looked forward to the return of Maurice to Brittany as soon as the latter heard of Madeleine's mysterious disappearance. M. de Bois knew that it would be more difficult to prevent her being traced by her cousin than by any other person, and that it was by him Madeleine herself most feared to be discovered. Gaston was therefore fully on his guard against betraying her confidence.
Maurice, on his part, was keenly sensible of the difficulty of his undertaking. He could not openly inquire of M. de Bois whether Madeleine had apprised him of her intentions. The very question would have a tendency to compromise his cousin, by suggesting that she was capable of holding clandestine communication with a young gentleman. Then, too, if M. de Bois was really the object of her attachment, he might not be aware of the preference with which she honored him; and it would be the height of indelicacy for Maurice to allow him to suspect a circumstance which her modesty would scrupulously conceal. He was sitting in the library pondering over the embarrassments of his position, when his host entered. The gentlemen greeted each other with wonted cordiality.
"Did you return from Paris to-day?" asked M. de Bois. "Have you just come?"
"About an hour ago. I came to you at once to"—
M. de Bois interrupted him. It was the policy of the former to lead the conversation, that he might avoid direct questions.
"Had you heard that Mademoiselle de Gramont had left the château?"
"Yes; my cousin Bertha wrote to me, and"—
Again M. de Bois seized upon the thread of conversation.
"Have you no news from Mademoiselle Madeleine?—no letter?"
"None," sighed Maurice, convinced that, as M. de Bois plunged into the subject in this straightforward, calm manner, he could not possibly be in her confidence.
The host went on.
"Has not Count Tristan been able to obtain any trace of her?"
"Thus far, none at all! What could have become of her! Where could she have gone!" exclaimed Maurice; but not in a tone of interrogation, for he now felt assured that M. de Bois could not answer.
"One thing is certain; what Mademoiselle Mad—ad—adeleine has done must have been prompted by a noble motive. She could not cause you all this sorrow unless she imagined herself compelled to take the step which we must all lament."
"You are right, you only do her justice!" rejoined Maurice.
"What course do you propose to ado—op—opt?" inquired M. de Bois, with a perfectly natural air of friendly interest.
"I hardly know what to do. I should be thankful for any advice. I shall first visit the Prefecture at Rennes, to see if she obtained a passport. She could not surely run the risk of attempting to travel without one. If the passport be for Great Britain, I may go to Scotland. Possibly she may have changed her mind, and accepted Lady Vivian's offer—do you not think so?"
"It does not appear to me likely. She definitely decli—i—ined."
"Did she tell you so? Did she speak to you on the subject?" asked Maurice, hastily.
For the first time during the interview, M. de Bois betrayed a slight disquietude, but he quickly collected himself and answered—
"I heard Lady Vivian speak to Mademoiselle Bertha of the offer she had made her cousin, and after that, Mademoiselle Mad—ad—adeleine told me she had declined the prop—op—oposition. But, if you imagine she has changed her mind, would not a letter to Lady Vivian answer every pur—ur—urpose?"
"No; if she should be there, I must see her, and use arguments which would have no force upon paper. She must be there! Where else could she be? I will start for Scotland to-night. Now I must bid you adieu."
"If you are going back to the château, I will accompany you. I must make my adieux to the ladies. I leave for Paris to-morrow."
"Indeed! Do you make a long stay?"
"Prob—ob—obably. The Marquis de Fleury had promised me a secretaryship,