"Yes, M. de Pavannes," I replied, offended
and indignant, "It is so far possible that it is the truth; and
more, I think you would not so speak of this lady if you knew
all; and that it was through her your wife was to-day freed from
those who were detaining her, and taken safely home!"
"Ha!" he cried eagerly. "Then where has my wife been?"
"At the house of Mirepoix, the glover," I answered coldly, "in
the Rue Platriere. Do you know him? You do. Well, she was kept
there a prisoner, until we helped her to escape an hour or so
ago."
He did not seem to comprehend even then. I could see little of
his face, but there was doubt and wonder in his tone when he
spoke. "Mirepoix the glover," he murmured. "He is an honest man
enough, though a Catholic. She was kept there! Who kept her
there?"
"The Abbess of the Ursulines seems to have been at the bottom of
it," I explained, fretting with impatience. This wonder was
misplaced, I thought; and time was passing. "Madame d'O found
out where she was," I continued, "and took her home, and then
sent me to fetch you, hearing you had crossed the river.
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