"He will be free."
"Thank God!" cried the girl, and then she remembered her uncle. "And the Marquis?" she asked.
"My dearest Laure," said the kindly, sympathetic voice of Captain Frank Yeovil, stepping out of the twilight of the hall into the bright light of the little drawing-room where last night she had bade farewell to Marteau, "prepare yourself for some dreadful——"
"Yes, yes, I know," she interrupted. "The Emperor is here."
"The troops went over to him."
"And my uncle?"
"He——"
"Speak, monsieur. What has happened? Did the Emperor——"
"No one harmed him. He could not survive the disgrace, mademoiselle. Prepare yourself."
"Oh, for God's sake, delay not your tidings."