Would he and Captain Ivor be able to do anything? Would they even be admitted to the presence of the autocratic commandant? Denham might talk of insisting; but prisoners had no power to insist. If he did, he might only be thrown into prison himself! Was that what he wanted—to go with the boy?
“Ah, j’espère que non!” Lucille muttered fervently.
And if they were admitted, what then? Would money purchase Roy’s immunity from punishment? General Wirion’s known cupidity gave some ground for hope. Yet, would he neglect such an opportunity for displaying Imperialist zeal?
Lucille put these questions to herself as she flew homeward. On the way she met little Mrs. Curtis, and for one moment stopped in response to the other’s gesture.
“Is it true?” Mrs. Curtis asked, with a scared look. “They tell me Roy has been arrested. Is it so? My husband could do nothing. The landlady was off before he could speak to her again. He thought that Roy and the Colonel would be coming round directly, and so he waited in. But they did not come. And now two gendarmes are quartered in our lodgings, and Hugh may not stir without their leave. It is horrid! But—Roy?”
“I cannot wait! Roy is taken to the citadel! I have to see to his mother! Do not keep me, Madame.” And again Lucille sped homeward.
As she had half hoped, half dreaded, she found Mrs. Baron indoors before herself, alone in the salon, and uneasy at Captain Ivor’s absence.
“He ought not to have gone out,” she said. “He will be seriously ill if he does not let himself rest. It is Roy’s doing, I suppose—so thoughtless of Roy! I must tell Denham that I will not have him spoil my boy in this way. It is not good for Roy, and Denham will suffer for it. You do not know where he is gone?”
“Oui!” faltered Lucille, and Mrs. Baron looked at her.
“You have been crying! What is it?”