"Well, well, as you may think." He turned to go. "We will meet there, then?" he said, pointing to the town. "And when?"
"To-morrow," said I.
He shrugged his shoulder as to a boyish petulance, for he thought it an idle boast. "To-morrow? Then come and pray with me in the cathedral, and after that we will cast up accounts—to-morrow," he said, with a poignant and exultant malice. A moment afterwards he was gone, and I was left alone.
Presently I saw a boat shoot out from the shore below, and he was in it. Seeing me, he waved a hand in an ironical way. I paced up and down, sick and distracted, for half an hour or more. I knew not whether he lied concerning Alixe, but my heart was wrung with misery, for indeed he spoke with an air of truth.
Dead! dead! dead! "In no fear of your batteries now," he had said. "Done with the world!" he had said. What else could it mean? Yet the more I thought, there came a feeling that somehow I had been tricked. "Done with the world!" Ay, a nunnery—was that it? But then, "In no fear of your batteries now"—that, what did that mean but death?
At this distressful moment a message came from the General, and I went to his tent, trying to calm myself, but overcome with apprehension. I was kept another half hour waiting, and then, coming in to him, he questioned me closely for a little about Doltaire, and I told him the whole story briefly. Presently his secretary brought me the commission for my appointment to special service on the General's own staff.
"Your first duty," said his Excellency, "will be to—reconnoitre; and if you come back safe, we will talk further."
While he was speaking I kept looking at the list of prisoners which still lay upon his table. It ran thus:
Monsieur and Madame Joubert.
Monsieur and Madame Carcanal.
Madame Rousillon.
Madame Champigny.
Monsieur Pipon.
Mademoiselle La Rose.
L'Abbe Durand.
Monsieur Halboir.
La Soeur Angelique.
La Soeur Seraphine.
I know not why it was, but the last three names held my eyes. Each of the other names I knew, and their owners also. When I looked close, I saw that where "La Soeur Angelique" now was another name had been written and then erased. I saw also that the writing was recent. Again, where "Halboir" was written there had been another name, and the same process of erasure and substitution had been made. It was not so with "La Soeur Seraphine." I said to the General at once, "Your excellency, it is possible you have been tricked." Then I pointed out what I had discovered. He nodded.