Without any salutation to the wondering Diane, he said imperiously to the maid,—
"Leave the room at once! The French will be in the city this evening, and I have neither the time nor the power to protect you. Go and find your father; your place is with him. Go at once, and tell the two or three women who are left in the house that I wish them to do the same without loss of time."
"But, my Lord—" the maid remonstrated.
"Ah!" returned the governor, stamping his foot angrily; "did you not hear what I said? I wish it!"
"But, my Lord—" Diane began.
"I have said, 'I wish it!' Madame," replied Lord Wentworth, with a gesture of inflexible determination. The maid left the room in terror.
"Truly, I should not have known you, my Lord," said Diane, after an agonizing silence.
"It is because you have never before seen me in the guise of a vanquished man, Madame," rejoined Lord Wentworth, with a bitter smile. "You have been a farseeing prophet of ruin and disaster for me; and I was in truth an insensate fool not to believe you. I am beaten, absolutely beaten, beyond resource and beyond hope. So you may rejoice."
"Is the success of the French at this point really beyond question?" asked Diane, who could with difficulty conceal her pleasure.
"How can it be otherwise, Madame? The Nieullay and Risbank forts and the Old Château are in their power. They have the city between three fires, and Calais is theirs beyond cavil. So you may rejoice."