"Mon Dieu! Your late prisoner, Monsieur d'Exmès," was the armorer's ingenuous reply.
"Oh, my dreams have come true!" cried the governor.
Then, with a threatening frown, suddenly remembering what he was not likely to forget,—
"Why, this Monsieur d'Exmès," said he to Pierre, "was your guest, if I mistake not, during his stay in Calais?"
"Yes, Monseigneur," replied Pierre, without embarrassment. "In fact I have reason to believe—why should I conceal it?—that my cousin Jean, the weaver, has had a larger share in this business than he ought to have had."
Lord Wentworth fixed a piercing glance upon the sturdy burgher; but he looked Lord Wentworth fearlessly in the eye.
As Pierre had imagined would be the case, the governor was too sensible of his own weakness, and too well aware of Peuquoy's influence in the city, to allow his suspicions to appear.
After having put some few questions to him, the governor dismissed him with gloomy but friendly words.
Left alone, Lord Wentworth gave way to overwhelming despondency.
What could he do? The city, defended only by its weak garrison, henceforth shut off from all hope of succor by land or sea, and hemmed in between the Nieullay fort on one side and the Risbank fort on the other, both of which threatened instead of defending it,—the city could hold out but very few days longer; in fact, it might be only a few hours.