‘I want to see Clon,’ she whispered feverishly. The man who waited on us had left the room. ‘He knows?’ I said. She nodded, her beautiful face strangely disfigured. Her closed teeth showed between her lips. Two red spots burned in her white cheeks, and she breathed quickly. I felt, as I looked at her, a sudden pain at my heart, and a shuddering fear, such as a man, awaking to find himself falling over a precipice, might feel. How these women loved the man! For a moment I could not speak. When I found my voice it sounded dry and husky. ‘He is a safe confidant,’ I muttered. ‘He can neither read nor write, Mademoiselle.’ ‘No, but--’ and then her face became fixed. ‘They are coming,’ she whispered. ‘Hush!’ She rose stiffly, and stood supporting herself by the table. ‘Have they--have they--found him?’ she muttered. The woman by her side wept on, unconscious of what was impending. I heard the Captain stumble far down the passage, and swear loudly; and I touched Mademoiselle’s hand. ‘They have not!’ I whispered. ‘All is well, Mademoiselle. Pray, pray calm yourself. Sit down and meet them as if nothing were the matter. And your sister! Madame, Madame,’ I cried, almost harshly, ‘compose yourself. Remember that you have a part to play.’ My appeal did something. Madame stifled her sobs. Mademoiselle drew a deep breath and sat down; and though she was still pale and still trembled, the worst was past. And only just in time. The door flew open with a crash. The Captain stumbled into the room, swearing afresh. ‘SACRE NOM DU DIABLE!’ he cried, his face crimson with rage. ‘What fool placed these things here? My boots? My--’ His jaw fell. He stopped on the word, stricken silent by the new aspect of the room, by the sight of the little party at the table, by all the changes I had worked. ‘SAINT SIEGE!’ he muttered. ‘What is this?’ The Lieutenant’s grizzled face peering over his shoulder completed the picture. ‘You are rather late, M. le Capitaine,’ I said cheerfully. ‘Madame’s hour is eleven. But, come here are your seats waiting for you.’ ‘MILLE TONNERRES!’ he muttered, advancing into the room, and glaring at us. ‘I am afraid that the ragout is cold,’ I continued, peering into the dish and affecting to see nothing. ‘The soup, however, has been kept hot by the fire. But I think that you do not see Madame.’ He opened his mouth to swear, but for the moment he thought better of it. ‘Who--who put my boots in the passage?’ he asked, his voice thick with rage. He did not bow to the ladies, or take any notice of their presence. ‘One of the men, I suppose,’ I said indifferently. ‘Is anything missing?’ He glared at me. Then his cloak, spread outside, caught his eye. He strode through the door, saw his holsters lying on the grass, and other things strewn about. He came back. ‘Whose monkey game is this?’ he snarled, and his face was very ugly. ‘Who is at the bottom of this? Speak, sir, or I--’