"Mademoiselle Madeleine only asked, monsieur, that I would come to her room when the house was all quiet, that night, and carry down her trunk and place it in the _châlet_. I could not help saying, 'Oh, Mademoiselle Madeleine, are you going to leave us?' She answered, 'I _cannot_ stay, Baptiste. I am _compelled_ to go. You are the only person here who is aware of my intention. When I am gone do not give any information concerning me that you can possibly, and without uttering a falsehood, avoid. It will be better that no one should know I had your aid.' Those were her exact words, monsieur."
"Go on,--go on!" urged Maurice, as the narrator paused.
"When the house was all quiet, I put off my shoes and stole softly to Mademoiselle Madeleine's room. She opened the door, and, without speaking, pointed to the little trunk. Old and weak as I am, I had no trouble in carrying it. It was light enough. It could not have held much."
"Did she not bid you adieu, then?" asked Bertha.
"Just as I was stooping to lift the trunk, Mademoiselle Madeleine stretched out her hand and took mine. I felt her warm, soft touch the whole day after. She did not say adieu, but she looked it. She looked as though she were blessing me and thanking me. I never saw a face that said so much,--so much that went to my very soul and comforted me! When she let go my hand, I took up the trunk and carried it out. She closed the door behind me without a sound, and I brought the trunk here that night and left it. That is all I 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.