There was a laugh—gay, mellow, and careless—and a young man's voice answered:
"Your Excellency may safely rely on our protection!"
There was another laugh. Under cover of it, Madame Potier hissed into the head folds of the white shawl:
"They have quartered the Prussian Chancellor and the Foreign Office upon us. That is what the sacred brute in the big boots and spectacles shouted, when I went down to open the front gate.... What is the Prussian Foreign Office?"
From the white folds of the shawl a sibilant whisper hissed at her:
"It is a man. They call him Count Bismarck. Now if you love me, be quiet, and watch and listen. He shall ring the bell with his own hand.... Then I open the door!..."
"But, Madame!..." whispered the distracted caretaker.
No verbal answer.... The white shawl pulled closer, shrouding round the slender form and girlish features. A little hand, firm and unfaltering, ready upon the latch of the door.
Poor Potier whimpered....
"Madame Charles.... My child! my treasure! for the love of Christ and Mary!... Tell me what you are going to do!"