“Take the dog,” he cried in a hoarse voice (signifying Michel by a gesture), “and whip him to the lair! At least we will look to see if the wolves have left a bone or two for our picking.”
“M. le Représentant,” I ventured to say, “be just to consider that the prisoner is by all rights my prisoner. Anyhow he has stuck to his side of the bargain. Let me hold you in fairness responsible for his safe-conduct.”
He turned upon me like a teased bullock.
“In fairness!” he cried—“in fairness! But you presume, citizen, on your position.”
He looked as if he could have struck me; all the beast in the man was prominent. Then he gave the order to march, and I found myself left alone with the little grotesque in the chair.
I was hot and indignant; but the passion of the other seemed to have exploded itself into a rain of emotion. His dry cheeks quivered; the tears ran down them like moisture on an old wall.
“Monsieur,” I said, softly, “I know not whether to applaud or upbraid you. And where is Mademoiselle Carinne?”
He seemed quite broken in a moment—neither to resent nor to be surprised at my mention of the girl’s name.
“She is fled,” he whimpered—“the little graceless cabbage is fled.”
“To safety, I hope?”