“Victory! They’ve got her!”
The brougham stopped at the door. D’Ormont, who was driving it, jumped smartly down. Rufus d’Estiers stepped out of it. With the help of the Baron they drew from the interior a woman whose wrists and ankles were bound. A gauze scarf covered her face. They carried her to the church bench which stood in the middle of the chamber.
“Not the least difficulty,” said d’Ormont in a tone of triumph. “She came straight out of the train and stepped into the brougham. At the cross-roads we tied her up before she had time to let out more than two squeals.”
“Remove that scarf,” said the Baron; and as d’Ormont stooped to do so, he added: “After all, we may as well restore her freedom of movement. We have her safe.”
He himself untied the cords.
D’Ormont raised the veil and uncovered her face.
There came a cry of amazement from the spectators; and Ralph, up in his observation post, from which he had a view of the prisoner in full daylight, was hard put to it not to betray his presence by a similar exclamation, when there was revealed a young woman in all the splendor of her youth and beauty.
Then a voice rose above the murmurs of astonishment. The Prince of Arcola stepped forward, and his starting eyes glaring in a twitching face, stammered:
“It’s she!... It is she.... I recognize her.... But what a frightful thing it is!”
“What is it?” snapped the Baron. “What’s frightful? Explain!”