It was so quickly done that neither St. Arnaud nor Gavin had a connected thought until they found themselves in the closet, nor could they recall which one locked the door. They gazed stupidly at each other in the half light which filtered through the glass doors lined with green silk; and then they found that, although concealed from sight themselves, they could yet see any one in the room through little holes in the moth-eaten silk behind the glass.
The sound of many feet entering the house was now heard, and in a moment more the door was opened, and a Prussian officer ushered in, a short, slender man, wearing a shabby surtout and nondescript uniform. Several other officers followed; but from the moment the short, slender man entered, neither one of the prisoners in the closet, nor had Madame Ziska, eyes for any one but him.
His face was wan and weather-beaten, his nose high and prominent, and his brow and mouth rather unpleasing. But his gray-blue eyes redeemed an otherwise sinister face. They were exquisitely clear, soft yet sparkling, and their mild expression flatly contradicted the hardness and even cruelty of his other features.
He advanced to the stove, slightly and negligently saluting Madame Ziska, who rose and bowed. As he addressed no word to her, after standing a moment she quietly reseated herself. The other officers remained standing, and a shiver seemed to run through them at Madame Ziska’s action. The man in the nondescript uniform noticed it, and smiled faintly. He sat down, warmed his hands at the stove, while the officers stood rigidly at attention. Madame Ziska read diligently, and St. Arnaud and Gavin in the closet scarcely dared to breathe.
After five minutes of this the shabby man looked around him, made a slight motion with his hand, and every officer, saluting, filed out of the door, and he was left alone with Madame Ziska.
Madame Ziska continued to read. Presently the strange personage spoke to her in French, and in the clearest and sweetest voice imaginable.
“You have a great deal of sang froid, madame.”
“One needs it in this bustling world,” replied Madame Ziska calmly, withdrawing her eyes for a moment from her book.
“Ahem!” A pause. “Your French is very good.”
“So is yours, monsieur.”