As quickly as she could, Lucy told her of the encounter of two days ago with the young Englishman, and of her hopes that he might have some of the information Bob so sorely needed. Elizabeth listened with no answering enthusiasm for the risky project, but the vigorous objections which she launched when Lucy paused in her rapid explanation fell on deaf ears.
“You needn’t come with me. I can find the place, and there are so few sentries I know I can keep out of their way,” was the only answer vouchsafed her. In her impulsive resolution Lucy forgot Elizabeth’s larger share in the dangers of the expedition. She had only one thought just then; to succeed in her undertaking. And this required such a desperate keying up of her own courage as to make her thoughtless for her kind and unselfish companion.
“Oh, Miss Lucy, I beg you not to go!” implored Elizabeth in a last attempt to dissuade the determined girl from her purpose.
To this Lucy returned doggedly, “It’s all I can do for Bob, and I must do it.”
Elizabeth sighed despondently, but her faithful affection answered without hesitation on her own account, “Very well; if you must, I go with you.”
“Oh, thank you, dear Elizabeth! I knew you’d help me,” cried Lucy with genuine relief and gratitude. “Now come into Mère Breton’s garden till I show you what I’m going to do.”
Along with Lucy’s mad eagerness to learn from Captain Beattie’s lips what he knew of the defenses of Argenton—information which Bob himself had told her might free Château-Plessis from German hands—was another and more womanly motive for her visit to the prison. The sight of her brother had reminded her of the young prisoner who had so aroused her admiration and pity. She could not help Bob to safety, but could she not do something for this other boy, now that chance had brought her within possible reach of him? She thought to herself how she would despise an English girl who could have seen Bob taken off to prison, as she had seen Captain Beattie, without lifting a finger to ease his unhappy fate. Somewhere this young officer’s family was waiting anxiously for news of him, and hoping that one kind hand might be stretched out to offer him help and comfort. While she thought this Lucy had entered Mère Breton’s garden and, feeling for Elizabeth in the shadowy darkness, said softly, “Gather some of whatever you can find. I know where the eggs are put after they are collected in the evening. I’m going for some.”
The little hen-house was not far off, where the basket of eggs was nightly placed inside the door. Lucy felt for the key upon the roof, unlocked the door and putting in her hand, took out half a dozen eggs and tied them in her handkerchief. She felt no compunction about making off with the old Frenchwoman’s property. She and Mère Breton had talked together in confidence and Lucy knew that this food was far better destined in her eyes than if it had gone down the throats of the German wounded. She hurried back across the garden and found Elizabeth collecting a small supply of the only ripe vegetables to be had just then.
“Got them?” she asked, breathing hard with uncontrollable excitement. “All right, come on.”
They stole out of the gate into the meadow, and now Elizabeth, trying to resign herself to the attempt since she could not prevent it, asked anxiously: