He stopped, and looked through the grating, but could not see the prisoner. Only a narrow line of black, like the sleeve of a coat, seemed to show that Mr. Schöninger had thrown himself on to his bed. The priest put his face close to the bars, and whispered, "God bless you!"
The line of black moved quickly with a start, but there was no reply.
Pale and dispirited, F. Chevreuse left the prison, and took his way slowly to Mrs. Gerald's. He would rather not have gone then, but he had promised. He wondered a little within himself, indeed, why he felt such reluctance to see persons who had always been faithful and sympathizing friends to him, and why he would rather, were the choice left to him, have gone to Mrs. Ferrier, or, still better, to Annette.
As soon as the true reason occurred to him, he put it aside, and refused to think on the subject.
Mrs. Gerald was evidently on the watch for him; for as soon as he approached the house, she came to the door to meet him. The color was wavering in her face, her blue eyes were suffused with tears, and looked the sympathy her lips did not speak. But the sympathy was all for him—for the terrible wound torn open again, for the new wound added, perhaps, of a misplaced confidence. No look seemed to glance past him and inquire for the one he had left behind.
Honora sat by a fire in the sitting-room, leaning close to the blaze, with a shawl drawn about her shoulders, and seemed to shiver even then. There was a frosty paleness in her face as she rose to meet their visitor, as though the blood had all flowed back to her heart, and stopped there, and the hand she gave him was cold. But an eager, questioning glance slipped from her eyes, swift and shrinking, that went beyond him and asked for news of the prisoner.
"Well," said F. Chevreuse, glancing from one to the other, "there is nothing to tell."
Honora sank into her chair again, and waited mutely, looking into the fire.
"Nothing of any consequence, that is," he continued, folding his hands together on the back of a chair, and looking down at them. "I went to the jail; but Mr. Schöninger has so quixotic a sense of propriety that he will not allow me to do anything for him. It was in vain for me to urge the matter; he absolutely sent me away."
"He was quite right in that," Mrs. Gerald remarked coldly.