The Director had been thoughtful enough to telegraph to the Ile Nou of the visitors' arrival, and as the canot approached the quay of the strange little settlement, an officer of the prison, who had the appearance of a superior warder, stepped forward, touching his white hat.
Virginia felt, with a thickly beating heart, that the long preface was finished, the first chapter of the book about to begin. She looked at this island of exile and punishment with an emotion that was not curiosity, but which could be classified by no other word. The Ile Nou was not to the eye the terrible place of which she had so often dreamt. There were more low, white houses, clustering cosily together or separated by thick, dark trees, and there were shaded streets and more blazing flamboyant flowers making patches of red in the deep green. But beyond the town rose a hill, and there the great prison buildings stood out grimly against the cloudless blue of the tropical sky.
They landed. The warder begged them with French politeness to give themselves the trouble of accompanying him to the quarters of the Commandant, who expected their visit.
The programme of conspiracy was all planned; each one's part had been carefully mapped out, and a thousand times Virginia had gone through the ordeal of this day in her mind. Yet now the beating in her temples confused her thoughts. She was afraid that she should forget, that she should make some irretrievable blunder, and that everything would be ruined by her fault. But much might depend now upon a look or a gesture, and she held herself in a vice of self-control, fearing that her smile on greeting the courteous old Commandant was suspiciously forced, her voice unnatural, or the look in her eyes a betrayal of desperate anxiety.
But the gallant Frenchman saw only the most entrancing vision of a girl his eyes had ever looked upon. Within the bounds of reason—which meant in honour and within the regulations of the establishment—he would have done anything to win one of those distracting smiles which brought into play two little round dimples. He ordered his own carriage to take his guests to the grim hill behind the town; he sat by Virginia as they were driven up the white, winding road; and when at last the convict coachman drew up the horses at a great door of black iron in the blank side of a high white wall, it was he who helped her to alight.
"You will be the only lady, not the wife or daughter of an official of the place, who has ever entered at this gate, mademoiselle," he remarked as the key of the surveillant grated in the lock.
The door opened, and Virginia passed through, trembling, the Commandant at her side. They were in a long, oddly-shaped courtyard. "The place of execution," said her guide. "In the early morning, at sunrise, a condemned man is brought here to die by the guillotine. Through that door yonder he comes, the priest walking by his side. To-morrow there will be such an execution. But I suppose you would scarcely care to see that, mademoiselle?"
"Oh, no, no!" exclaimed Virginia, shuddering. "I would die myself, sooner. What has he done—this unfortunate one—that he must suffer death?"
"He attempted to escape——"
"What—you kill them for that, if—they are retaken?"