Roland clutched his arm. “Don’t use that word, sir—I cannot bear it! For it is our fault, all this—we failed you! And we had hoped to die with you!”
“But, my dear boy, that was just what I did not want—and you must allow your general some say in the matter. That was why I hoped the business would be quickly over, and why I was so much distressed to hear from M. Camain what happened after I was gone. You have no further news of the others yet, I suppose?”
Roland shook his head. “But it was thought, when we passed through Hennebont, that Artamène would eventually recover, though he was too ill to know us. . . . Monsieur le Duc, I have never understood why it happened just at that moment—your arrest?”
“Because, directly after you left the room, Roland, I was recognised by a woman whom I had once known slightly. The comedy was that I failed to recognise her at the time—though I have realised since who she was—and that she had no idea, poor soul, of what she was bringing on me. But it made no difference; they would have taken me at Auray, if not at Hennebont; even if I had reached Vannes a free man I should not long have remained so. That came out very clearly at my—trial. So you see there is nothing to be distressed about.”
But Roland thought otherwise. Had the arrest been attempted on the highroad there would have been a chance which there never had been in that trap of a room. He had a vision of a great fight in the open, in which they three should have laid down their lives indeed, and their leader spurred away, free. He sighed disconsolately.
“Mme de Trélan spoke of going to Mme Bonaparte,” he remarked.
“I would not sanction it,” said his father quietly. “Besides, it would be useless.”
“You mean,” said Roland, biting his lips to keep back certain unmanly evidences of emotion, “that you are sure the First Consul is absolutely determined to . . .”
Gaston did not answer for a moment. Then he took a letter out of his coat. “No,” he said quietly, “as it happens that is just what I do not mean. On the contrary. For a person of his extreme decision he appears to be uncomfortable. Read that, Roland; but first give me your word that you will not tell the Duchesse.”
“I give you my word, sir—as your son,” said Roland, throwing back his head.