Presently he looked up.
“He is here, child.”
“Oh, monsieur! will you explain that I cannot speak, and ask him how is maman?”
The message was given. I heard the poor little voice answer through the wall: “Maman sends her love to you. She has not wept so much the last night, and she has been sleeping a little. It is Lolo, who loves you well, that tells you this.”
I assisted St Prest to rise.
“I will ask the honour,” I said, “of dusting M. l’Amiral’s coat for him.”
* * * * * * *
That same afternoon, as I was again, during the hour of exercise, standing near the sewer, of a sudden I heard a most heartrending voice calling from the other side of the wall.
“Messieurs! messieurs!” it cried. “Will no one send to me my darling?”
I dropped upon my knees (I give all honour to M. de St Prest), and, with a shudder of nausea, lowered my face to the opening.