The servant lingered to repeat the tale he had heard—the sight he had seen. When, at that instant, he saw the curtain of the alcove slightly stirred. He uttered an exclamation—sprung to the bed—his hand touched the curtain—Eugenie seized his arm. She did not speak; but as he turned his eyes to her, astonished, he saw that she trembled, and that her cheek was as white as marble.
“Madame,” he said, hesitating, “there is some one hid in the recess.”
“There is! Be silent!”
A suspicion flashed across the servant’s mind. The pure, the proud, the immaculate Eugenie!
“There is!—and in madame’s chamber!” he faltered unconsciously.
Eugenie’s quick apprehensions seized the foul thought. Her eyes flashed—her cheek crimsoned. But her lofty and generous nature conquered even the indignant and scornful burst that rushed to her lips. The truth!—could she trust the man? A doubt—and the charge of the human life rendered to her might be betrayed. Her colour fell—tears gushed to her eyes.
“I have been kind to you, Francois. Not a word.”
“Madame confides in me—it is enough,” said the Frenchman, bowing, with a slight smile on his lips; and he drew back respectfully.
One of the police officers re-entered.
“We have done, madame; he is not here. Aha! that curtain!”