But the minutes went by and still they waited-five, ten, fifteen minutes elapsed, yet no one came. Juste was on the point of returning within to seek the reason of this delay when steps sounded on the terrace above. But they were accompanied by the rustle of a gown, and presently it was Mademoiselle who appeared before them. The two men eyed her with astonishment, which in the case of La Boulaye, was tempered by another feeling.
“Monsieur la Boulaye,” said she, her glance wandering towards the Captain, “may I speak with you alone?”
Outwardly impassive the Commissioner bowed.
“Your servant, Citoyenne,” said he, removing his cocked hat. “Juste, will you give us leave?”
“You will find me on the terrace when you want me, Citizen-deputy,” answered the officer, and saluting, he departed.
For a moment or two after he was gone Suzanne and Caron stood confronting each other in silence. She seemed smitten with a sudden awkwardness, and she looked away from him what time he waited, hat in hand, the chill morning breeze faintly stirring a loose strand of his black hair.
“Monsieur,” she faltered at last, “I am come to intercede.”
At that a faint smile hovered a second on the Republican's thin lips.
“And is the noblesse of France fallen so low that it sends its women to intercede for the lives of its men? But, perhaps,” he added cynically, “it had not far to fall.”
Her cheeks reddened. His insult to her class acted upon her as a spur and overcame the irresoluteness that seemed to have beset her.