Captain Fogg sat at the table with a lieutenant at his side; he was engaged on certain papers, which he looked hastily over, as handed to him by the lieutenant, and scribbled his name under them.
Julian had time to observe the captain; he was a man of middle height, with very thick light eyebrows, no teeth, a blotched, red face, and a nose that gave sure indication of his being addicted to the bottle. He wore a sandy scrubby moustache and beard, so light in colour as not to hide his coarse purple lips. When he did look up, his eyes were of the palest ash colour, so pale as hardly to show any colour beside the flaming red of his face, and they had a watery and languid look in them. His appearance was anything but inviting.
He took no notice of Julian, but continued his work with a sort of sulky impatience to have it over.
Not so the younger officer, who looked at Julian, and was struck with her beauty. He turned his eyes so often upon her that he forgot what he was about, and Fogg had to call him to order. Then Fogg condescended to observe Julian.
"Well," said he, roughly, "what do you want? Are these papers? What is your name?"
"I sent up my name," answered Julian.
"Ah! to be sure—the daughter of that rebel. I know—I know. What do you want?"
"I have come to ask the life of Anthony Cleverdon," she answered. "He does not deserve death; it was all my fault that he joined the Duke. He was no rebel at heart; but I drove him to it. See what a man he is—to come and surrender himself in order to save his old father from death."
"Bah! A rebel! He commanded—a chief rebel! He shall die," answered Fogg, roughly.