Some of the facts,
too, were leaking out, and provoking smiles among the more
knowing, and a hint here and there; the result of all being that,
unable to pursue the matter farther in Vilain's case, I hardened
my heart and persisted that the Swiss should pay the penalty.
This obstinacy on my part had an unforeseen issue. On the
evening of the second day, a little before supper-time, my wife
came to me, and announced that a young lady had waited on her
with a tale so remarkable that she craved leave to bring her to
me that I might hear it.
"What is it?" I said impatiently.
"It is about M. Vilain," my wife answered, her face still wearing
all the marks of lively astonishment.
"Ha!" I exclaimed. "I will see her then. But it is not that
baggage who--"
"No," my wife answered. "It is another."
"One of your maids?"
"No, a stranger."
"Well, bring her," I said shortly.
She went, and quickly returned with a young lady, whose face and
modest bearing were known to me, though I could not, at the
moment, recall her name.
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