"Two years, sir."
"And his sentence?"
"Fifteen."
The visitor shuddered involuntarily. Pleased by his interest, the official brightened to offer further diversion:
"If you'll come to the inner building, sir, I can show you some more. We've some in for life—"
"Thank you," the visitor refused bruskly, and moved aside to rejoin his companions.
The little group fell silent and expectant at the approach of the one whose escort they were. It was rather a brilliant group against the somber prison background. Dancla, "the man in gray" of Allard's warning, was the only member not in uniform, with the exception of the distinguished visitor himself.
"I am going into the town," their chief announced, pausing before them, "with Dancla. You may return to the yacht. Vasili, send the launch for me in an hour. Ah, and leave on that bench by the door my rain coat; I fancy it will be storming before we return. You understand?"
"Perfectly, your Royal Highness," responded Vasili, a trim, blond young aide-de-camp with a most ingenuous smile. He spoke in French, as did all the party.
"I alone have the honor of accompanying your Royal Highness?" Dancla asked, not without a shade of uneasiness.