Steps came running across the hall--and the next moment Jean himself was standing in the doorway.
"_Tiens_!" he cried out gaily. "It is the first time I have left the studio. I would not let the man announce me. _Me voici_! Here I am! It is a surprise--eh? But--eh!--what is the matter?" He stared at the three--at Henry Bliss, who was evidencing palpable confusion; at Myrna, who seemed suddenly to have lost her colour; at Father Anton, who had tears trickling down his face, and acted as though he were gazing at a ghost.
"It--it is Jean!" faltered Father Anton nervously, the letter fluttering from his hand to the floor.
"But, yes, of course, it is Jean! Who else?" Jean laughed--and stepped forward mechanically to pick up the paper. "Permit me. I--"
A dainty satin-slippered toe was covering the letter. Myrna was smiling reprovingly.
"It is quite time enough for you to be gallant, Jean, when you can do so without the danger of reopening your wound!" she said sweetly. "Have you not been told often enough that you are not to stoop down like that? Father Anton is much better able than you to pick it up!"
"Yes, yes," said Father Anton hurriedly, reaching for the paper and tucking it into the breast of his _soutane_. "Yes, you--you must be careful of yourself, Jean."
"Nonsense!" declared Jean. "I am perfectly recovered!" He stared at the three in turn again for a moment. "But--but perhaps I am intruding--_de trop_?"
"Not at all!" Myrna answered composedly. "It is a matter that concerns only father and Monsieur le Curé; and they"--she glanced brightly at her father--"I am sure, will be only too glad to get away to father's den where they can discuss it by themselves."
"Yes--er--yes, of course," coughed Henry Bliss. "It's--er--good to see you out again, Jean, my boy." Then jocularly, in an attempt to disguise his self-consciousness: "Come along, Father Anton"--he caught the other's arm, and led the curé out of the room--"there are perhaps others who prefer to be by themselves."
A slightly puzzled expression on his face, Jean watched them out of sight across the hall; then turned inquiringly to Myrna.
"If it isn't one thing, it's another," she said, as though the subject bored her. "There has always been something or other ever since father started that fund of his; and the curé trots to father with everything. This time, it seems that one of Father Anton's protégées has run away from him; and, as you saw, the curé is beside himself." Again the shoulders lifted "But you, Jean"--infusing a sudden note of perturbed anxiety into her voice--"are you sure you were wise in coming out to-night? What brought you?"