On putting this question, she approached a little nearer to the sentry—as she did so, drawing her jewelled hand within the cloak, and letting the hood fall back from her head. Her beautiful face would have been visible, but for the absence of light; and trusting to this, she had no fear of being recognised.
“Withers, madame! William Withers; that be my name, at your service.”
“Thanks, Master Withers, for saying so: since in truth I want you to do me a service.”
“Name it, fair lady!” gallantly challenged the young cuirassier.
“You are on guard over a prisoner. I need not say who that prisoner is: since I believe there is but one. I want to see him. ’Tis on very important business.”
“Oh! I understand,” said Withers, looking superlatively wise.
“I want only a word with him. You can give me the opportunity?”
“Certain I can,” replied the sentry, “if you think it be necessary for you to see him yourself.”
“Oh! sir—it is necessary!”
“Well, I didn’t know that. I thought the message you sent by the girl would be sufficient. She’s been, and seen him, and gone again. You han’t met her, then, I suppose?”