“They are watching us. Do not let them see that you care.”
“Oh, I shall be very quiet,” she answered.
He let go of her hand, and it fell like a dead thing to her side.
She was, as she had promised, very quiet, but it was only because she did not, could not, realise what this man had said. Yesterday she had clung to the idea that once she was alone in prison she would think clearly, but she had not, and now the nightmare was closing round her again.
Her weight slipped against the pillar; she felt both sick and giddy. Some one moved a chair towards her and gently pushed her into it; she looked up to see a woman holding some knitting in her left hand.
“The bad air makes you faint,” said this lady kindly and serenely.
“Was I faint?” asked Madame du Barry.
The lady and the young man exchanged glances over her bent blonde head.
“You must not be afraid,” he said. “It is only death.”