“There is no other country but England?” she exclaimed ironically.
“I think so,” he said simply.
The great pride of his belief appealed to her. She held out her hands to him.
“Edmond is your friend,” she exclaimed; “you will except him always. And I am very grateful to you, Brandon—more grateful than I can say.”
He pooh-poohed her expression of thanks, and was about to take leave of her when a face, thrust close to the window, made them both draw back. It was the face of Gatelet, the officer of the National Guard, whom they had passed in the street an hour ago. Visible for an instant, it disappeared at once as Brandon turned with a startled exclamation and took a step to the window.
“Gatelet—by all that’s unlucky,” he said, standing irresolute and concealing from her all that moment meant to him. She, in turn, was conscious of a tremor of excitement and a dread unlike anything she had ever known.
“Oh, my God, Brandon—if he should have recognised you!”
He forced a laugh, but took up his hat as he spoke.
“Well,” he said, feigning merriment, “it would certainly be unpleasant, Beatrix.”
“But you will leave Strasburg—now, this moment.”