The
laughter-loving lieutenant hated embarrassment as he did fast-days, and
I had given him a bad hour.
He was back before I thought it possible.
"She will see you at once in the commandant's waiting-room." He looked
at me oddly.
"Your wife is a queenly woman, monsieur."
The lights shone uncertainly in the commandant's waiting-room. It was
the room where I had met the English captive. From a defiant boy to a
court lady! It was a long road, and I was conscious of all the steps
that had gone to make it. I went to the woman in silk who waited by
the door. She stood erect and silent, but her eyes shone softly
through a haze, and when I bent to kiss her hand I found that she was
quivering from feet to hair.
"Monsieur!" she whispered unsteadily, "monsieur!" Then I felt her
light touch. "God is good. I have prayed for your safety night and
day. Ah--but your shoulder! They did not tell me. Are you wounded,
monsieur?"
I was cold as a clod. She had forgiven Starling. She had walked with
him. I answered the usual thing mechanically. "My shoulder,--it is a
scratch, madame." I kept my lips on her hand, and with the feeling her
touch brought me I could not contain my bitterness.
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