Would he and Captain Ivor be able to do anything? Would they even be admitted to the presence of the autocratic Commandant? Denham might talk of insisting; but prisoners had no power to insist. If he did, he might only be thrown into prison himself. Was that what he wanted—to go with the boy? "Ah—j'espère que non!" Lucille muttered fervently. And if they were admitted, what then? Would money purchase Roy's immunity from punishment? General Wirion's known cupidity gave some ground for hope. Yet—would he neglect such an opportunity for displaying Imperialist zeal?
Lucille put these questions to herself as she flew homeward. On the way she met little Mrs. Curtis, and for one moment stopped, in response to the other's gesture.
"Is it true?" Mrs. Curtis asked, with a scared look. "They tell me Roy has been arrested. Is it so? My husband could do nothing. The landlady was off before he could speak to her again. He thought that Roy and the Colonel would be coming round directly, and so he waited in. But they did not come; and now two gendarmes are quartered in our lodgings, and Hugh may not stir without their leave. It is horrid. But—Roy?"
"I cannot wait. Roy is taken to the citadel. I have to see to his mother. Do not keep me, madam, I entreat;" and again Lucille sped homeward.
As she had hoped, yet dreaded, she found Mrs. Baron indoors before herself, alone in the salon, and uneasy at Captain Ivor's absence.
"He ought not to have gone out," Mrs. Baron said. "He will be seriously ill, if he does not let himself rest. It is Roy's doing, I suppose—so thoughtless of Roy. I must tell Denham that I will not have him spoil my boy in this way. It is not good for Roy, and Denham will suffer for it. You do not know where he is gone?"
"Oui," faltered Lucille, and Mrs. Baron looked at her.
"You have been crying. What is it?"
As gently as might be, Lucille broke the news of what had happened; and Mrs. Baron seemed stunned. Roy—her Roy—in the hands of the pitiless gendarmes! Roy imprisoned in the citadel! Lucille made no mention of Bitche; but too many prisoners had been passed on thither for the idea not to occur to Mrs. Baron.
"And it was I who brought him to France! It was I who would not let him be sent home, when he might have gone! O Roy, Roy!" she moaned. Lucille had hard work to bring any touch of comfort.