Meanwhile, Mistress Simon had taken her place upon the chair near the open door in the porter's lodge, and sat there with her cold, immovable face staring into empty space with her great coal-black, glistening eyes, while her hands were busily flying, making the polished knitting-needles click against each other.
She was still sitting there, when at last her husband came down the stairs to open the outer door of the Temple, conduct his friends past the inner court, and to bring back the two officials who were to keep guard during the night.
They passed the knitter with a friendly salutation and a bit of pleasantry—Toulan stopping a moment to ask the woman after her welfare, and to say a few smooth words to her about her courage and her great force of character.
She listened quietly, let him go on with his talk, and when he had ended, slowly raised her great eyes from her knitting to him.
"You are a traitor," she said, with coldness, and without any agitation. "Yes, you are a traitor, and you, too, will have your turn at the guillotine!"
Toulan paled a little, but collected himself immediately, took leave of the knitter with a smile, and hastened after the officials, who were waiting for him at the open door—the two who were to hold the watch during the night having already entered.
Simon closed the door after them, exchanged a few words with them, and then went into his lodge to join his rigid better half.
"This has been a pleasant afternoon, and it is a great pity that it is gone, for I have had a very good time. We have played cards, sung, smoked, and Toulan has made jokes and told stories, and made much fun. I always wonder where he gets so many fine stories, and he tells them so well that I could hear him day and night. Now that he is gone, it seems tedious and dull enough here. Well, we must comfort ourselves that to-morrow will come by and by."
"What do you mean by that?" asked his wife, sternly.
"What sort of a day do you expect to-morrow to be?"