“Yes,” replied the painter, “you are one of us, a patriot; but even if you were not, I should still have confided the matter to you.”
Master and pupil understood each other, and Ginevra no longer feared to ask:—
“Who is he?”
“An intimate friend of Labedoyere, who contributed more than any other man, except the unfortunate colonel, to the union of the 7th regiment with the grenadiers of Elba. He was a major in the Imperial guard and was at Waterloo.”
“Why not have burned his uniform and shako, and supplied him with citizen’s clothes?” said Ginevra, impatiently.
“He will have them to-night.”
“You ought to have closed the studio for some days.”
“He is going away.”
“Then they’ll kill him,” said the girl. “Let him stay here with you till the present storm is over. Paris is still the only place in France where a man can be hidden safely. Is he a friend of yours?” she asked.
“No; he has no claim upon me but that of his ill-luck. He came into my hands in this way. My father-in-law, who returned to the army during the campaign, met this young fellow, and very cleverly rescued him from the claws of those who captured Labedoyere. He came here to defend the general, foolish fellow!”