He wished to test the truth of his suspicion by conversing with her upon some subject more serious than that of her little dog, who seemed for the present to engage all her attention; yet he hesitated to disturb the transient peace that seemed to have descended upon her bruised spirit like a blessing.
“I wonder if they would let me keep her? she could do no harm, you know, poor little beast, and it would be almost a comfort to have something here that loves me through the sleepless nights,” said Eudora, raising her eyes with pleading inquiry to Malcolm’s face.
“I think they will, if you so much desire it. I think they will give you every indulgence the rules do not absolutely forbid,” answered Malcolm.
“It is only a few days, so they might not mind, you know. Why, even the cruel men of the French Revolution let Marie Antoinette keep her little dog, though they took crown and kingdom, husband and children, and even life away from her, and surely—”
“I will see to it, love; there can be no possible objection to granting you so harmless an indulgence,” interrupted Montrose.
Malcolm’s order for admission comprised only one hour of each day. It was supposed that longer or more frequent visits would only distract the prisoner’s mind from the solemn duty of preparation for death, for which so short a time had been granted her.
Punctually, therefore, at the end of the stipulated hour, the turnkey unlocked the door of the cell, and informed Mr. Montrose that his time was up.
Eudora held her little dog towards him, saying:
“You had better take her down and get permission before you venture to leave her with me, Malcolm.”
Montrose silently received the little animal, but when Fidelle perceived that she was to be carried off, she set up such a piteous howling and struggling, that even the stern heart of the female warder, callous to human suffering, was touched with compassion, and she said.