"Oh, nothing," replied Marie, looking at his face with a close
scrutiny, as if it were familiar to her.

"And that is all that I had to tell you, Madame Marie," concluded
Barebone.

And, strangely enough, Marie smiled at him as he turned away, not
unkindly.

"To you, mademoiselle," he went on, turning again to Juliette, whose
hand was at her hair, for she had been taken by surprise, "my
message is simpler. Monsieur, your father, will be glad to have
your society at Bordeaux, while he stays there, if that is true
which the Gironde pilot told him--of fever at Saintes, and the
hurried dispersal of the schools."

"It is true enough, monsieur," answered Juliette, in her low-pitched
voice of the south, and with a light of anticipation in her eye; for
it was dull enough at Gemosac, all alone in this empty chateau.
"But how am I to reach Bordeaux?"

"Your father did not specify the route or method. He seemed to
leave that to you, mademoiselle. He seemed to have an entire faith
in your judgment, and that is why I was so surprised when I saw you.
I thought--well, I figured to myself that you were older, you
understand."

He broke off with a laugh and a deprecatory gesture of the hand, as
if he had more in his mind but did not want to put it into words.