Lucy and Michelle with one accord rushed to the window. Armand and the sentry were walking slowly down the street. With another few steps a projecting wall hid them from sight. Michelle was shaking from head to foot, and the hand that touched Lucy’s was icy cold. But she overcame herself enough to return with Clemence to her mother’s side and give poor Madame de la Tour the comfort of her presence at that moment. Lucy had not their awful anguish of fear to endure. It was not her brother who walked the streets of Château-Plessis in imminent danger of recognition and certain death. But she was almost as wretched as they in the bitterness of her disappointment. She felt an unreasoning confidence that Captain de la Tour would manage to reach the Allied lines in safety. His nerve and coolness were powerful weapons among the dull-witted German soldiery. But he would return without the slip of paper which she had dared so much to obtain, and which might have brought safety and freedom to them all.
“Twice I’ve failed,” she thought, as with choking throat and eyes blurred with tears she sank miserably down on the little window-seat. “Oh, it seems as though any one could have done better than I!”
Before the occupants of the room had collected their stunned and bewildered thoughts, a second knock sounded on the front door, this time a gentler one.
“That’s Elizabeth,” exclaimed Lucy, starting to her feet, and winking the tears from her eyes. At the same moment an idea occurred to her at sight of Michelle’s white face, and Madame de la Tour’s pitiful struggle for hope and courage. “Michelle, I’ll ask Elizabeth to find out about your brother. To learn where he goes and if he gets safely away. She can go among the soldiers and ask them any questions without being suspected.”
“No, no! I beg you!” cried Michelle, suddenly restored to speech and movement. “Never could I trust her with Armand’s secret!” Her blue eyes had lighted up with that never-forgotten dread and terror of every German.
Lucy opened her lips to say frankly that her doubts were absurd, and that now, if ever, was a time when Elizabeth could be of service and could relieve the agony of Madame de la Tour’s mind. But unwilling to argue the subject before Michelle’s mother, she drew her friend toward the stairway instead, saying, “Come down with me while I let Elizabeth in. I want to speak to you.”
Michelle agreed, but as they descended the stairs she forestalled Lucy by repeating earnestly, “You must not tell the German woman of my brother! Enough enemies he has already.” Her voice broke as she ended, the deadly fear at her heart overwhelming her once more.
Lucy had reached the lower floor and stood staring into the dining-room, uncertain what to say or do. For Elizabeth, receiving no answer to her knocks, had become anxious for Lucy and had entered the house, left unlocked since Armand’s departure. She stood there within a few feet of them, and the day was bright enough for Lucy to see by her face that she had heard Michelle’s words.
Michelle gave a gasp herself, but Elizabeth did not wait for either one to speak.
“You need not fear me, Mademoiselle,” she said quietly, and Lucy thought she had never seen in that little figure so much proud dignity. “I am not among the enemies of your brudder, since for France I suppose he fights. When I tell Miss Lucy I am pro-ally, it is that I am changed in heart and soul—not only in my tongue. Better you trust me and that we together work, for else it is little good that I can do.”