“Shut up, Lucille! You needn’t jaw a fellow like that! It can’t mean anything really, you know. Wirion just thinks he can screw a lot of money out of my father. And that’s the worst of it,” declared Roy, in an undertone. “I hate to have done such a stupid thing--and I hate the worry of it for Den, just now when he’s like this. But you know they couldn’t really send me to Bitche only for smashing a paltry image. It would be ridiculous.” “Ah, Roy! even you little know--you--what it means to be under a despot, such as--but one may not dare to speak.” Lucille’s tears came fast. They stood listening. From the staircase rose loud rough voices, alternating with Ivor’s not loud but masterful tones. That he was prisoner, and that they had power to arrest him too, if they chose, made not a grain of difference in his bearing. It was not defiant or excited, but undoubtedly it was haughty; and Lucille, just able to see him from where she stood, found herself wondering--did he wish to go to prison with Roy? She could almost have believed it. “Eh bien, messieurs. Since l’Empéreur sees fit to war with schoolboys, so be it,” she heard him say sternly in his polished French. “To me, as an Englishman, it appears that his Majesty might find a foe more worthy of his prowess.” “But, ah, why make them angry?” murmured Lucille. A few more words, and Denham came back. One look at his face made questions almost needless. “Then I am to go, Den?” “I fear--no help for it. The men have authority. You will have to spend to-night in the citadel. But I am coming with you, and I shall insist upon seeing Wirion himself.” “But you--you cannot! You are ill!” remonstrated Lucille. “Will not Colonel Baron go? Not you.” He put aside the objection as unimportant. “Roy must take a few things with him--not more than he can carry himself. I hope it may be only for the one night. They allow us twenty minutes--not longer. That is a concession.” “I will put his things together for him,” Lucille said quickly. “One moment. May I beg a kindness?” “Anything in the world.” “If Colonel Baron does not return before we start--and he will not--would you, if possible, find him, and beg him to come at once to the citadel? Then, Mrs. Baron----” Ivor’s set features yielded slightly; for the thought of Roy’s mother without her boy was hard to face. Lucille watched him with grieved eyes. “I will tell her, but not everything--not yet as to Bitche, for that may be averted. I will stay with her--comfort her--do all that I am able. Is this what you would ask?” “God bless you!” he said huskily, and she hurried away. “Den, must I go with those fellows really?” asked Roy, beginning to understand what he had brought upon himself. “I never thought of that. Can’t you manage to get me off? Won’t they let me wait--till my father comes back?”