Father Anton's white hair was unbrushed; he was unshaved; and his face already haggard, his eyes already deep-set and blue-circled from his twenty-four hours of bedside vigil, now bore added and unmistakable signs of violent mental agitation and distraction. His hand, that held a piece of torn yellow paper, trembled as though with the ague.
"Ah, Monsieur Bliss--ah, _pardon_, mademoiselle!" he stammered, and attempted a bow. "I--I have run very fast--and--I--I--"
"Is anything the matter?" inquired Myrna coolly, joining the two at the door.
"She is gone!" he said, his lips quivering.
"Gone!" repeated Henry Bliss bewilderedly. "Who is gone?"
"Our charming little Marie-Louise of Bernay-sur-Mer, of course! Who else?"--Myrna laughed sharply. "Well, _mon cher_ Monsieur le Curé, will you tell us how it happened? I had an idea you were very shortly to return with her to Bernay-sur-Mer. It seems I was mistaken!"
"But I do not know how it happened!"--Father Anton shook his head distractedly. "I was away last night and to-day. This evening when I returned to my rooms I found this letter from her"--he stared at the torn yellow paper in his hand, and the tears began to well into his eyes. "She said that she was going away--that she could not go back to Bernay-sur-Mer--that I was not to look for her--that she did not know where she was going herself. I waited for nothing. I ran at once to Madame Garneau's. Madame Garneau had seen nothing of Marie-Louise since this morning. We looked in Marie-Louise's room. Her clothes were gone. And then--and then I ran here to get help to find her."
"And so," said Myrna icily, "are we never to hear the last of her? The trouble in the first place is of your own making, Father Anton--it is unfortunate that others have to suffer for it! Well, what does it mean? She did not want to go back to Bernay-sur-Mer--she has run away from you--from everybody that could keep track of her. Why? That she can go to Jean again without being found out?" She shrugged her shoulders. "However, under the circumstances, if that is so, it will do her little good, since Jean himself is going away to--"
"No, no!" Father Anton cried out brokenly. "You do not know Marie-Louise! You do not know Marie-Louise to say that! She, more than any one else, would not let Jean know. It is because her heart is broken that she has gone. And it is true, I am to blame." The tears were running down his cheeks; he held out his hands to them imploringly. "She is not well--she is only just recovered from her illness, my little Marie-Louise, and--and--" the words died away in a sort of frightened sob, at a quick, warning touch upon his arm from Myrna.