“The last—the last—let me see! Oh, I suppose he’s been shut up for the same reason as the others.”
“What is it, monsieur?”
“Par dieu! I can’t tell, my pretty sunbeam! Why are you so interested in him? You are not his sister, are you? No; I see you’re not,” continued the soldier, glancing at Sabina and Freeman, becoming also more respectful at the sight of the liveried attendant. “You must be une Anglaise?”
“Yes, I am,” was the reply.
“If you’ll stay here a moment,” said the Zouave, “I’ll step inside and inquire for you.”
“Pray, do, monsieur!”
Drawing a little to one side, with Sabina and Freeman to protect her from being jostled, Blanche waited for the man’s return.
True to his promise he came back; but without bringing the required information.
He could only tell them that “the young man had been made prisoner for some political offence—for having interfered with the soldiers when upon their duty.”
“Perhaps,” added he, in a whisper, “monsieur has been incautious. He may have called out, ‘Vive la République!’ when the parole for to-day is ‘Vive l’Empereur!’ He appears to be an Anglais. Is he a relative of yours, mam’selle?”