Some of the parents had indeed already arrived, and 34 word was sent to them that the children would be released as soon as they had given their play.
There were some benches and tables against the walls—for here it was that the guard dined and supped—and these were hauled forth, some scenery was improvised with stools and sheets, and torches were procured to light up the vast dark place. The Grand Prieur had gone back to fetch his guests.
“Come, Mademoiselle,” said Jacques Haret to Mademoiselle Capello, “you must act your best, and get us all out of this scrape.”
For the first time I saw a look on Mademoiselle Capello’s face, indicating shame and humiliation at her position. She had not so far spoken a word that I knew of. She glanced toward me as much as to ask if she should agree—and I nodded. My one idea was to prevent a catastrophe before getting her into old Peter’s hands, and I dared not make any disturbance on her account.
“But, Monsieur,” she said to Jacques Haret, “you must let Peter, my servant, come to me—he followed me on foot all the distance from the garden.”
“I will! I will!”
Jacques Haret ran out and fetched Peter, who was outside the door. Peter dashed in, ran up to Francezka and began to cry:
“Oh, my darling little mistress! Oh, what will madame say to you? What will she do to you?”
I gave him a look of warning, which checked his lamentations. He squeezed himself into a little place back of the improvised stage, and from there I watched his anxious face during what followed.