“There is no brandy in Thorn,” said D'Arragon, turning towards the table. “There is only coffee.”
He busied himself with the cups, and did not look at Desiree when he spoke again.
“I have secured two horses,” he said, “to enable you to proceed at once, if you are able to. But if you would rather rest here to-day—”
“Let us go on at once,” interrupted Desiree hastily.
Barlasch, crouching against the stove, glanced from one to the other beneath his heavy brows, wondering, perhaps, why they avoided looking at each other.
“You will wait here,” said D'Arragon, turning towards him, “until—until I return.”
“Yes,” was the answer. “I will lie on the floor here and sleep. I have had enough. I—”
Louis left the room to give the necessary orders. When he returned in a few minutes, Barlasch was asleep on the floor, and Desiree had tied on her hood again, which concealed her face. He drank a cup of coffee and ate some dry bread absent-mindedly, in silence.
The sound of bells, feebly heard through the double windows, told them that the horses were being harnessed.
“Are you ready?” asked D'Arragon, who had not sat down; and in response, Desiree, standing near the stove, went towards the door, which he held open for her to pass out. As she passed him, she glanced at his face, and winced.