“But before hanging him,” my captor concluded, “I thought it best to bring him to you for interrogation. He may be a spy.”
Goujon nodded.
“You were right,” he said. “Receive my compliments. Tie him to that pole yonder. As for the woman, place her on my cot,—we shall find means to revive her;” and he laughed menacingly. “You may retire,” he added, “but stay within call.”
They saluted and withdrew.
Goujon waited until the flap fell behind them. Then he approached me slowly, until he was quite near, and contemplated me with those snake’s eyes of his—my face, my clothes, my shoes. With a little smile of enjoyment he turned away and bent above the cot, his hands clasped behind him. At last he turned to the table, took up a candle and held the flame close to her lips. It flickered back and forth, and he set it down again with a chuckle of satisfaction.
Then he came back to me and stood for a moment gloating over me.
“So, Citizen Tavernay,” he said at last with an infernal smile, “you did not escape after all!”
CHAPTER XXV.
IN THE SHADOW.
“So, Citizen Tavernay,” he repeated, dwelling on the words with a malicious triumph, “you did not escape after all—you and yonder pretty aristocrat. God’s blood! but this is a pleasant moment!”
He stopped and looked into my eyes, then burst into a roar of laughter.