As the coach started, in the midst of grateful acclamations, Marie Paulet held up mute hands, tears streaming down her faded cheeks. Such a look was hers, that even Colonel Baron was conscious of moisture in his eyes, though by no means easily moved to outward emotion. Mrs. Baron was weeping outright, with the thought of what such a parting would be between Roy and herself. As for Denham, nobody managed to get a clear sight of his face for a quarter of a minute.
Once more they were rolling along the interminable roads, Roy wondering whether Jean Paulet would be drawn at some future time; while Denham's mind, like a spring released, went back to the one engrossing question, which for a space had been thrust into the background. Would Polly indeed wait for him? Or would she grow tired of waiting, forget his love, and become the wife of another?
That possibility held him in thrall both day and night, through the rest of this wearisome journey.
[CHAPTER XIV]
IN A FORTIFIED TOWN
IT was growing dark when at length they drove through the gates into Verdun.
No one then said a needless word, not even Roy. The sense of banishment and of captivity pressed upon them all with a new force at the sight of this fortified town, with its massive encircling walls, its iron gates, its pervading gendarmerie. If any lack of realisation of their true position had helped them hitherto, it had small chance of surviving this hour.
At the gate they had to pause, a gendarme coming to the coach-door. He said something to Denham, which made Colonel Baron ask sharply, "Eh? What's that?"
"We are to go first to the citadel. Not necessary for Mrs. Baron and Roy. You and I might walk it, sir, and send them on."
"No, no," Mrs. Baron interposed. "I cannot go alone. We will keep together."