And then she was conscious of a rush of men, and hands were upon her trying to tear her away—and then, with a strength that was greater, that seemed to mock at the strength of all these hands that snatched at her, she was whirled off her feet, and Jean, towering there in all his great might, snarling like some beast at bay, was between her and the others.
"Let her alone!"—Jean's steel-locked wrists and clenched hands were raised above his head. "Let her alone!"—his voice was hoarse, low with a murderous fury. "I'll kill, do you understand—with these"—he shook the steel bracelets on his wrists—"I'll kill—the first man—that tries to take her away!"
Before the white, livid face, the passion in the mighty, quivering form, they fell back instinctively; and for an instant that tense, bated silence fell again upon the hall—and then a child cried peevishly—and then a voice spoke authoritatively.
She did not understand what was said; but she was clinging to Jean again, and the crowd of men in uniform were going away, leaving only one or two near them.
"What was it? What did he say?" she asked wildly.
"That there must be something in common between us—and to bring us both together before the special inquiry board," he answered mechanically—and because he could not spread his hands apart, he laid them, still trembling with the fury that had been upon him, both together on her shoulder, and drew her to him.
It terrified her, the sight of those manacles on his wrists. Why—why were they there? What were they going to do with him? What was this inquiry—was it to send him to prison?
"Jean, what is it?" she whispered piteously. "What does it mean? What are they going to do with you?"
"I do not know," he said, and smiled at her. "I only know that for a little while at least you are here with me again."
"Jean—answer me!" she cried out in her fear.