‘He knows?’ I said.
She nodded, her beautiful face strangely disfigured. Her closed teeth showed between her lips. Two red spots burned in her white cheeks, and she breathed quickly. I felt, as I looked at her, a sudden pain at my heart, and a shuddering fear, such as a man, awaking to find himself falling over a precipice, might feel. How these women loved the man!
For a moment I could not speak. When I found my voice it sounded dry and husky.
‘He is a safe confidant,’ I muttered. ‘He can neither read nor write, Mademoiselle.’
‘No, but—’ and then her face became fixed. ‘They are coming,’ she whispered. ‘Hush!’ She rose stiffly, and stood supporting herself by the table. ‘Have they—have they—found him?’ she muttered. The woman by her side wept on, unconscious of what was impending.
I heard the Captain stumble far down the passage, and swear loudly; and I touched Mademoiselle’s hand.
‘They have not!’ I whispered. ‘All is well, Mademoiselle. Pray, pray calm yourself. Sit down and meet them as if nothing were the matter. And your sister! Madame, Madame,’ I cried, almost harshly, ‘compose yourself. Remember that you have a part to play.’
My appeal did something. Madame stifled her sobs. Mademoiselle drew a deep breath and sat down; and though she was still pale and still trembled, the worst was past.
And only just in time. The door flew open with a crash. The Captain stumbled into the room, swearing afresh.
‘SACRE NOM DU DIABLE!’ he cried, his face crimson with rage. ‘What fool placed these things here? My boots? My—’