Amélie—we have not spoken of her, for there are sorrows no pen can depict—Amélie, pale, feverish, almost expiring since that fatal night when Morgan was arrested, awaited the return of her mother and Sir John from the preliminary trial with dreadful anxiety. Sir John arrived first. Madame de Montrevel had remained behind to give some orders to Michel. As soon as Amélie saw him she rushed forward, crying out: “What happened?”
Sir John looked behind him, to make sure that Madame de Montrevel could neither see nor hear him, then he said: “Your mother and I recognized no one.”
“Ah! how noble you are I how generous! how good, my lord!” cried the young girl, trying to kiss his hand.
But he, withdrawing his hand, said hastily: “I have only done as I promised you; but hush—here is your mother.”
Amélie stepped back. “Ah, mamma!” she said, “so you did not say anything to compromise those unfortunate men?”
“What!” replied Madame de Montrevel; “would you have me send to the scaffold a man who had helped me, and who, instead of punishing Edouard, kissed him?”
“And yet,” said Amélie, trembling, “you recognized him, did you not?”
“Perfectly,” replied Madame de Montrevel. “He is the fair man with the black eyebrows who calls himself the Baron de Sainte-Hermine.”
Amélie gave a stifled cry. Then, making an effort to control herself, she said: “Is that the end of it for Sir John and you? Will you be called to testify again?”
“Probably not,” replied Madame de Montrevel.