More men came, soldiers or
attendants, and among them was Antoine Picard, gigantic and sullen. His
arms were unbound and he went with the others willingly. Perhaps
Auersperg had divined that he would not attempt to escape, as long as
Julie was in his hands.
Then came the two women, Julie first, and John heard about him the
muttered exclamation: "The French spies!" He knew that this belief had
taken strong hold of the soldiers and people who stood about. Women,
when they chose to be, were the most dangerous of all spies and the
watchers regarded them with intense curiosity.
Neither was veiled. Julie was erect, and her chin high. John saw that
the girl had become a woman, matured by hardship and danger, and she
looked more beautiful than ever to him that morning. Her cheeks were
pale and tiny curls of the deep golden hair escaped from her hood and
clustered about her temples. John's heart swam with pity. Truly, she was
a bird in the hands of the fowler.
She gave a glance half appealing and half defiant at the people, but the
stalwart Suzanne who followed her was wholly grim and challenging. Then
something strange occurred. John had the most intense anxiety for her to
look at him. He had no belief whatever in anything supernatural, but
sound, intelligible words were made to travel on waves of air, and it
was barely possible in this unexplored world that thought too might be
propelled in the same way.
Pages:
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198