“And his Excellency?” asked Antoinette. In that moment all three of us seemed to have forgotten the tragedy behind the wall.
“His Excellency thought so, too, when we had explained it sufficiently,” Hélène answered.
The girl seemed suddenly to throw off the weight of her grief. She seized the hand of the Vicomtesse in both of her own.
“The Baron pardoned him?” she cried. “Tell me what his Excellency said. Why are you keeping it from me?”
“Hush, my dear,” said the Vicomtesse. “Yes, he pardoned him. Mr. Temple was to have come to the city to-night with an officer. Mr. Ritchie and I came to this house together, and we found—”
“Yes, yes,” said Antoinette.
“Mr. Ritchie wrote to Mr. Temple that his Excellency was to send for him to-night, but André told him of the fever, and he came here in the face of danger to see her before she died. He galloped past the sentry at the gate, and the Alcalde followed him from there.”
“And came here to arrest him?” cried Antoinette. Before the Vicomtesse could prevent her she sprang from her chair, ran to the door, and was peering out into the darkness. “Is the Alcalde waiting?”
“No, no,” said the Vicomtesse, gently bringing her back. “I wrote to his Excellency and we have his permission for Mr. Temple to remain here.”
Suddenly Antoinette stopped in the middle of the floor, facing the candle, her hands clasped, her eyes wide with fear. We started, Hélène and I, as we looked at her.