“Make search,” he bade them; and search was made in the ruthless manner of such searches.
The brutal soldiers passed from room to room beating the wainscoting with pike and musket-butts, splintering and smashing heedlessly. Presses were burst open and their contents scattered; chests were broken into and emptied, the searchers appropriating such objects as took their fancy, with true military cynicism. A mirror was shattered, and some boards of the floor were torn up because a sergeant conceived that the blows of his halbert rang hollow.
When the tumult was at its height, came her ladyship at last into the room, where Colonel Penruddock stood watching the operations of his men. She stood in the doorway leaning upon her ebony cane, her faded eyes considering the gaunt soldier with reproachful question.
“Sir,” she asked him with gentle irony, masking her agitation, “has my house been given over to pillage?”
He bowed, doffing his plumed hat with an almost excessive courtesy.
“To search, madame,” he corrected her. And added: “In the King's name.”
“The King,” she answered, “may give you authority to search my house, but not to plunder it. Your men are robbing and destroying.”
He shrugged. It was the way of soldiers. Fine manners, he suggested, were not to be expected of their kind. And he harangued her upon the wrong she had done in harbouring rebels and giving entertainment to the King's enemies.
“That is not true,” said she. “I know of no King's enemies.”
He smiled darkly upon her from his great height. She was so frail a body and so old that surely it was not worth a man's while to sacrifice her on the altar of revenge. But not so thought Colonel Penruddock. Therefore he smiled.