“Where is Colonel Egmont, as you call him?” asked Diane, still calmly, and without a tremor in her voice.
“God knows,” answered the jailer. “He was in the courtyard a moment ago.”
Diane rushed by the jailer, and ran along the corridor, down the stairs, and bareheaded into the courtyard. Egmont was there trying to subdue the panic among his men and to induce them to make a last stand, but no one heeded him. There was running to and fro and throwing down of arms and the steady cracking rifles of skilled soldiers.
Egmont, cursing and swearing, turned, and was faced by Diane.
“So,” she said, “you have killed the man I love. Well, then, I can love him just as much dead as when he was living. Did you not know that?”
“I know,” responded Egmont, “that women are great fools where men are concerned. I didn’t know that Jean Leroux had been shot, but I am glad of it. François le Bourgeois has just been put to sleep.”
Behind them a string of prisoners was trooping out. One of them, a big man, came up and caught Diane around the waist and began dragging her down the steps and into a blind alley that opened upon the courtyard, for bullets were now flying and cracking, and a gun was being trained down either street.
As Diane turned and saw that it was Jean Leroux whose arm was around her, she suddenly became as a dead woman in his arms. She was so slim that it was easy enough for Jean to pick her up and carry her into the blind alley, where he was about to lay her flat upon the cold stones when she revived and stood upon her feet, for Diane was a strong woman and not given to fainting.
“They told me you were shot,” she said.
“Not yet,” answered Jean. “Come, let us find a cellar. We have been in cellars before, and found them pleasant enough.”