“Yes, ladies,” returned the soft, sweet voice of the abashed lady, “I could not leave my husband in his danger.” She turned as she spoke, and fell fainting in the arms of the affectionate Mathilde, whose penetration had long since discovered the secret of her sex but whose prudence and good breeding had put a seal upon her lips on that subject.
“You are my prisoners,” said the dark man, turning towards the colonel, who was quietly putting his whiskers and black wig into the fire; “you will, if you please, prepare for instant departure to Paris.”
“Indeed,” coolly replied the colonel, “I shall not go to Paris to-night, nor yet to-morrow.”
“Monsieur, the colonel,” said his captor, “will forgive me if I remind him that I have with me an armed force, to sustain the authority of the king’s command.”
“Oh! do not disturb yourself at all on my account,” replied the colonel, “I dare say you have an armed force—so have I—what then?”
“Monsieur is jesting,” answered the officer. “You must really depart at once for Paris.”
“For what purpose, my good friend?” asked the colonel, with enviable naiveté.
“Parbleu! it is the king’s pleasure,” returned the other—who began to feel that he was being quizzed.
“But the king will not be in Paris when I arrive, Monsieur l’Officier. How then?”
“Oh! diable! you must wait till his majesty comes back—that’s all.”