Drusa had opened the door, and a tall gendarme entered the room, briskly at first, with an air of assurance, but stopping short when his eyes fell on me.
“Michel Seguin!” I exclaimed, in what seemed to me a whisper, but he heard me, and the expression of his face changed to one of perplexity, as if his next step was hard to take.
“Miss Harding!” he replied, with more surprise than pleasure in his voice. “I heard you were in the city, but did not expect to meet you here. How came you here to-night, of all places?”
He had given me his hand, and was standing close to Jack, who looked at him in wonder, not understanding what it all meant.
“And why shouldn’t she be here, may I ask?” Sophie proudly demanded. “What is there here to contaminate her, that you lay such emphasis on it?”
The officer did not answer her. He was evidently nerving himself to do his duty, and turning to madame, who sat like one dead, he said:
“I did not know you had company; I would have waited, in that case, for what I come to do will be exceedingly unpleasant to Miss Harding. I am sent here to arrest your son, Ivan Scholaskie, for aiding and abetting in a plot which we have been trying to unearth for some time.”
Again that corpselike pallor spread over madame’s face, and, drawing herself up, with a regal air, she replied:
“When my son last wrote me, he was in Paris. You will have to seek him there.”
“He might have been in Paris when he last wrote you, but at twelve o’clock last night and the night before he was seen coming from a suspected quarter, and he entered this house. It is my duty to search for him, although, I assure you, I am sorry to give you trouble, and before your friends, too.”