There was a momentary pause. Beatrice's lips trembled so that they would scarcely frame her words. Then she resolutely mastered her emotion and asked:
"How is it named?"
De Maupas hesitated for a moment. Then he shrugged his shoulders and went on: "I see no harm in letting thee know. This castle is called Ruthènes."
"Oh!"
The tone of the interjection was so singular that De Maupas stared at Beatrice in astonishment. She had turned slightly aside, and was looking not at him but at the door.
"The name seemeth familiar," he said coolly. "Perchance Sir John's hot-headed esquire, Edgar Wintour, hath mentioned it to thee?"
As he spoke De Maupas toyed with the sword girded at his side, and, with a sickening shock, Beatrice recognized the weapon. It was Edgar's! He, too, must then be a prisoner!
"I see thou dost recognize the weapon," said De Maupas grimly, as he noticed with secret satisfaction how the blood had left her face and how she had to bite her lips to subdue their trembling.
"Is he then also a prisoner in this castle?" she asked after a pause, during which she managed to regain a semblance of composure.
"Yes," replied De Maupas, without a blush. "He and that limping youth of his are both fast in the dungeons of Ruthènes. I fear they will never see the light unless----" He stopped and shook his head forebodingly. Then he walked slowly to the window, and stood gazing out as though lost in thought.