Thus the matter was arranged to everyone’s satisfaction: even to mine; for as I gave Tom Bickford beer-money against the days to come, I thought, as I had thought several times before, that my new orders, foolish though they were, would at least give me an opportunity to see whether there was anything I could do for Ellen Phipps.

XV

IT WAS one thing, I found, to contemplate seeing Ellen Phipps, but another thing to do it; for I was no sooner in a canoe, headed across the river to Iberville and the Château de St. Auge, than I realized I could never talk with Ellen until I had provided Madame St. Auge with a reason for my presence.

I walked slowly up the hillslope from the river, then back to the river again, trying to think what to say, and at the same time trying to look as though I knew what I was doing. The more I walked, the more uncomfortable and like a fool I felt; and so, in desperation, I went boldly up to the door and pounded on it, trusting to something I had learned in storms at sea: that no matter what a captain may beforehand plan to do, he will surprise himself by behaving differently and more effectively when the emergency is actually upon him.

The same spectacled nun answered my knock; and when I asked for Ellen Phipps, she slammed the door in my face. I stood there, perspiring and grimly determined that nothing now would keep me from seeing the girl, even though I stood on the doorstep for a week. Almost immediately, however, the door opened again and Madame St. Auge stood there, her eyes slipping and roaming, from my face to my feet, off into space, and back to my clothes again.

“You asked to see Ellen?”

“Yes,” I said. An idea popped into my head. “About her brother.”

“About her brother? Tell me what it is, please, and I will tell it to her.”

“Your pardon,” I said. “I must tell her myself.”

Madame St. Auge folded her hands over the heavy leather strap that belted her gray gown, and silently contemplated my shoes. At length she raised expressionless eyes. “I am sorry. It is not possible. You will have to tell me.”

“Not possible! You mean she’s ill? What is it you mean?”

“She is not here. She has gone away.”

The woman’s behavior puzzled me, and I only half believed her. “Where’s she gone? When did she go? How did she go?”

Madame St. Auge’s reply was both calm and cold. “You will excuse if I do not answer your questions. It is not our custom to reveal such information without excellent reason.”

“But there’d be no harm, now, in saying when she’ll be back, would there?”