"And when he could think no longer, he listened to the pickpocket."
Having gone through the formalities of arrival and been instructed as to various detail of prison routine, Lloyd settled down as comfortably as might be in his cell to pass the afternoon over "The Last of the Mohicans." He chose this because the librarian assured him that no books were as popular among French convicts as the translated works of Fenimore Cooper. "Good old Stars and Stripes!" murmured Kittredge, but he stared at the same page for a long time before he began to read. And once he brushed a quick hand across his eyes.
Scarcely had Lloyd finished a single chapter when one of the guards appeared with as much of surprise on his stolid countenance as an overworked under jailer can show; for an unprecedented thing had happened—a prisoner au secret was to receive a visitor, a young woman, at that, and, sapristi, a good-looking one, who came with a special order from the director of the prison. Moreover, he was to see her in the private parlor, with not even the customary barrier of iron bars to separate them. They were to be left together for half an hour, the guard standing at the open door with instructions not to interfere except for serious reasons. In the memory of the oldest inhabitant such a thing had not been known!
Kittredge, however, was not surprised, first, because nothing could surprise him, and, also, because he had no idea what an extraordinary exception had been made in his favor. So he walked before the guard indifferently enough toward the door indicated, but when he crossed the threshold he started back with a cry of amazement.
"Alice!" he gasped, and his face lighted with transfiguring joy. It was a bare room with bare floors and bare yellow painted walls, the only furnishings being two cane chairs and a cheap table, but to Kittredge it was a marvelous and radiantly happy place, for Alice was there; he stared at her almost unbelieving, but it was true—by some kind miracle Alice, his Alice, was there!
Then, without any prelude, without so much as asking for an explanation or giving her time to make one, Lloyd sprang forward and caught the trembling girl in his arms and drew her close to him with tender words, while the guard muttered: "Nom d'un chien! Il ne perd pas de temps, celui-la!"
This was not at all the meeting that Alice had planned, but as she felt her lover's arms about her and his warm breath on her face, she forgot the message that she brought and the questions she was to ask, she forgot his danger and her own responsibility, she forgot everything but this one blessed fact of their great love, his and hers, the love that had drawn them together and was holding them together now here, together, close together, she and her Lloyd.
"You darling," he whispered, "you brave, beautiful darling! I love you! I love you!" And he would have said it still again had not his lips been closed by her warm, red lips. So they stood silent, she limp in his arms, gasping, thrilling, weeping and laughing, he feasting insatiable on her lips, on the fragrance of her hair, on the lithe roundness of her body.
"Voyons, voyons!" warned the guard. "Soyons serieux!"