She felt the injustice of not confiding in her faithful companion the real need for their visit to the prison. But she had promised Michelle not to reveal a word of her brother’s possible coming to any one but Captain Beattie.
As on the night of their first visit, Lucy made a pretense of going early to bed. She had no difficulty in leaving the empty house unobserved, and ten o’clock found her and Elizabeth on their way to the eastern edge of the town. The rain still fell and the wind blew in gusts around the street corners, and, sweeping through the shell-holes in the walls, brought down loose bricks which fell with a sodden crash. Lucy and Elizabeth had coats wrapped closely about them, but in a few moments they were drenched by the warm pelting downpour. Their feet stumbled among loose stones and splashed into puddles. Lucy stared helplessly ahead into the darkness, trusting entirely to Elizabeth for guidance.
In half an hour, not having met even a sentry, they stole up the garden path to the side door of the de la Tours’ house, and Michelle instantly admitted them.
“Oh, poor things! But you are wet like from the river! Sit down, Lucy, ma pauvre amie. Stay one moment by the kitchen fire,” she exclaimed at sight of the soaked and bedraggled visitors.
“Oh, no, we can’t wait,” said Lucy, pushing her wet hair from her face, eager to get on and accomplish her purpose before her courage failed. “It’s only a warm rain, anyhow—I rather like it.”
“Let me go with you?” begged Michelle, bringing out a little basket she had got ready and looking entreatingly at Lucy. “Maman has gone to bed. She will not know to be afraid for me. I do not want that you should have all the danger.”
“No, no, Mademoiselle!” Elizabeth hastily interposed. “Enough it is that I fear for Miss Lucy. You can nothing do to help, and much better you do not go.”
“She’s right, Michelle. There’s nothing you could do. I’m going to bring the paper he gives me here to-morrow so that if—so it will be safe.” She had almost blurted out Captain de la Tour’s name. When Elizabeth was risking so much to help them, it seemed absurd to Lucy that Michelle should still suspect her. A startled look sprang into the French girl’s eyes, but Lucy gave her a reassuring smile to show that she had not forgotten her promise, and cautiously opened the door. “Good-bye, Michelle,” she whispered.
In another moment they were out in the rain again, with the little basket of food carefully protected beneath Elizabeth’s shawl. It was but half a mile further to the prison and after fifteen minutes’ walk through the empty streets, Lucy stood once more before the barred windows in the wall. The drip, drip of the rain against the stone was the only sound except the occasional boom of a cannon from the watchful German lines. Elizabeth had taken up her post commanding the window of the guard-room, but to-night a curtain was drawn to shut out the rain, and all was silent inside. Even German guards relax their vigilance with so little to fear as in deserted and ruined Château-Plessis. They knew their prisoners were securely barred and bolted in.
Lucy grasped the wet iron and pulled herself up a step to the window’s level, softly calling the young officer’s name. No sound came back but the steady drip of the rain which fell upon her upturned face.