Armand had forced himself to swallow some coffee, and for the moment he felt less chilled. He held the cup between his two hands, and gradually some warmth crept into his bones.
“Little mother,” he said in English, “try and drink some of this, it will do you good.”
“Thank you, dear,” she replied. “I have had some. I am not cold.”
Then a door at the end of the room was pushed open, and Heron stalked in.
“Are we going to be all day in this confounded hole?” he queried roughly.
Armand, who was watching his sister very closely, saw that she started at the sight of the wretch, and seemed immediately to shrink still further within herself, whilst her eyes, suddenly luminous and dilated, rested on him like those of a captive bird upon an approaching cobra.
But Chauvelin was not to be shaken out of his suave manner.
“One moment, citizen Heron,” he said; “this coffee is very comforting. Is the prisoner with you?” he added lightly.
Heron nodded in the direction of the other room.
“In there,” he said curtly.