“Of what?”
“Of your daughter’s guilt.”
“May I ask what proof?”
“It is known that she crossed the frontier on the sixth of last month, and returned on the tenth; she crossed again on Monday of this week and returned last night, bearing papers which are now in this house.”
These statements, although not quite correct, were startlingly near the truth; but Madame de X—— betrayed no sign of their effect upon her.
“My daughter Amelia!” she ejaculated. “But, Monsieur, she has not been to this house for over a month; she is heart-broken and dwells in absolute retirement at our château beyond Boitsfort. Ah, doubtless you are ignorant of the catastrophe she and we all have lately suffered!”
“Ja—ja!” interrupted the officer, stirring uncomfortably; “I know her husband incurred his death by rash and guilty action. In these times mercy can be shown to no one who is guilty.”
Madame de X—— raised her head and fixed on him a pair of scornful dark eyes. “Her husband, Monsieur, was innocent of the smallest crime; he did not even know your troops had entered Belgium. He was shot, it was said later, to avenge a stupid peasant’s act! If my daughter is to suffer the same fate, then, I beg of you, extend your vengeance to me; for such sorrows craze the mind and are likely to make criminals of the best of us!”
Although, unlike Madame de Z——’s husband, who had done nothing, the speaker was aware of her own guilt, her words expressed the bitter grief that enabled her and her daughter to risk their lives, not only to serve their country, but to avenge a crime that had broken their hearts.
“My dear Madame,” returned the officer, somewhat impressed by her sincerely tragic tone, “there is no question of vengeance in this matter. Indeed, my sympathy is so greatly with you, I should gladly serve you to the full extent of my power. It is, I know, dreadful for a mother to see her loved child condemned to be shot as a criminal, unable even to bid her a last farewell.”