“Come!” said the young girl to her aunt.
But she had not taken ten steps in the long narrow passage which led to the parlor, when she stopped. The damp which fell from the vaulted ceiling like a pall upon her, and the emotions which were agitating her heart, combined to overwhelm her. She tottered, and had to lean against the wall, reeking as it was with wet and with saltpetre.
“O Lord, you are ill!” cried Miss Adelaide.
Dionysia beckoned to her to be silent.
“Oh, it is nothing!” she said. “Be quiet!”
And gathering up all her strength, and putting her little hand upon the old lady’s shoulder, she said,—
“My darling aunty, you must render us an immense service. It is all important that I should speak to Jacques alone. It would be very dangerous for us to be overheard. I know they often set spies to listen to prisoners’ talk. Do please, dear aunt, remain here in the passage, and give us warning, if anybody should come.”
“You do not think of it, dear child. Would it be proper?”
The young girl stopped her again.
“Was it proper when I came and spent a night here? Alas! in our position, every thing is proper that may be useful.”