An usher opened the door of the council-chamber, and the lady, still veiled, was brought into court. All eyes turned upon her. Who was she? Why was she there? What had she come for? Amélie’s eyes fastened upon her at once.
“O my God!” she murmured, “grant that I be mistaken.”
“Madame,” said the judge, “the prisoners are about to be brought in. Have the goodness to point out the one who, when the Geneva diligence was stopped, paid you those attentions.”
A shudder ran through the audience. They felt that some fatal trap had been laid for the prisoners.
A dozen voices began to shout: “Say nothing!” but the ushers, at a sign from the judge, cried out imperatively: “Silence!”
Amélie’s heart turned deadly cold. A cold sweat poured from her forehead. Her knees gave way and trembled under her.
“Bring in the prisoners,” said the judge, imposing silence by a look as the usher had with his voice. “And you, madame, have the goodness to advance and raise your veil.”
The veiled lady obeyed.
“My mother!” cried Amélie, but in a voice so choked that only those near her heard the words.
“Madame de Montrevel!” murmured the audience.