“You are a brave lass,” exclaimed Doctor Thorndyke. Stephen put out his unwounded arm and drew her to him.
“Child, child,” he said, “the pistols might have burst and killed you where you stood!”
“That were no matter,” maintained the little girl stoutly, “so only you and the public money were safe. Oh, oh, you are hurt!”
“It is nothing,” Stephen assured her, although his face was growing whiter every moment. “Here,” he continued, turning to the others, “is a generous enemy. Although she is a prisoner of war and an exile from her own land, still she risks her life to preserve us from our foes. What say you to such a maid of France?”
“I say that her banishment should be at an end,” said the man who stood nearest, “and that she should be given, with all honour, a safe-conduct back to her own country.”
Stephen had been fumbling in his pocket and now drew forth a key.
“Unlock yonder cupboard, Clotilde,” he said, “and bring me the velvet case that you will find therein.”
When the box was set upon the table before him, he opened it and showed the diamond star that, on great occasions, he wore pinned to his coat. He took it up and awkwardly, with his one hand, fastened it to Clotilde’s dress.
“The gift of the French King,” he said, “finds its true place over a brave French heart!”
The three men bowed to the little girl who stood in awed and bewildered silence.