‘What you have just told me is so strange and terrible,’ she said at last, ‘that you cannot wonder if I ask you for further particulars. You assert that M. De Miravel’s life is in danger. What is it that he has done? What crime has he committed, that nothing less than his death can expiate?’
Jules slowly drew in his breath with an inspiration that sounded like a sigh. What he was about to tell must be told in a whisper. ‘Throughout Europe, as madame may be aware, there are certain secret Societies and propaganda, which, although known by various designations, have nearly all one great end in view. Of one such Society Monsieur De Miravel is, and has been for the last dozen years, an affiliated member. Nearly a year ago, several brothers of the Society were arrested, tried, and sentenced to long terms of imprisonment. Certain features of the trial proved conclusively that the arrests were the result of information given by a spy. There was a traitor in the camp; but who was he? That question has at length been answered. It has been proved beyond a doubt that the traitor is the man who calls himself Monsieur De Miravel. The sentence on all traitors is death. De Miravel has been condemned to die.’
‘This is horrible,’ murmured Mora.
‘It is simple justice, madame.’
‘Has Monsieur De Miravel any knowledge or suspicion of the terrible fate to which he has been condemned?’
‘None. How should he have, madame?’
Mora remained lost in thought for a few moments; then she said: ‘It seems strange that you, in the position you occupy, should know all that you have told me, and yet Monsieur De Miravel himself should know nothing.’
Jules lifted his shoulders almost imperceptibly. ‘It may seem strange to madame; but it is not so in reality. I, Jules Decroze, the poor garçon, am a humble brother of that Society which has condemned the traitor De Miravel to die. I, too, am affiliated to the sacred cause.’
‘You! Oh!’ Involuntarily she moved a step or two farther away.
Jules spread out his hands with a little gesture of deprecation.