“If you would be absolutely frank, I am sure the matter might be smoothed over—at any rate the punishment might be less severe. The idea of a woman being shot is appalling; I should like to prevent that.” “Oh, if justice be done I have no fear of such an event. But if a woman be guilty it is my conviction, Monsieur, that she should suffer even as a man. Women _have_ been shot here in Brussels; among others, the Englishwoman, who died so bravely, and Gabrielle Petit.” “_Ach, ja!_” He stirred again, and looked at the ceiling. “Her crime was far less than that you accuse my daughter of,” pursued Madame de X——; “therefore if Amelia were guilty, I could have no hope, Monsieur; and surely nothing could make me more frank than I have been with you. I have sought to hide nothing; you may search where you will, and may even send for my two daughters to corroborate what I have said.” At this moment the other officer appeared, and announced, in German, that his search had been fruitless. “Good!” muttered his superior, rising; then, addressing Madame de X——, said formally: “I must demand to search this room, Madame.” “Certainly,” she replied; “here are the keys of my desk and the cupboard.” She took two keys from the pocket of a small black silk apron she wore, and handed them to him. The soldiers were then bidden to enter, and the search began. Not only was her desk examined and every letter in it opened, but each volume in the book-cases was taken out and looked through; the cushions and upholstery of sofa and chairs were examined; the carpet was pulled up at the edges, and every cranny and crevice, where a paper might be hidden, investigated. And all that seemingly endless time Madame de X—— sat listening to the wild beating of her heart, thrilled through with terror as one or other of the men approached the little table where the papers they sought lay hidden only by a flimsy embroidered cover! Had her hair not been white, it would certainly have become so during that period of moral anguish and suspense; but, in recounting it, Madame de X—— affirmed she was scarcely conscious of peril; the strain was so intense she lost sight of its cause and seemed to suffer more physically than mentally. Each movement of the men acted painfully upon her nerves, and though her hands still moved, mechanically plying the needle, her very muscles seemed to stiffen; she felt petrified and unable to move her head or body. The men did their work in silence, but she could hear their breathing, and now and then a cough or throaty sound that shocked her like the discharge of a gun. During the whole procedure she noted that the superior was secretly watching her; and, fearing he might detect terror in her attitude, she made a mighty effort to change it easily. But she dared not rise from that table, whereon lay the price of her daughter’s life and her own.