"Hey, M. Chauvelin," the latter was saying arily, "tell me, Ipray you, is your friend pretty? Demmed smart these little French women sometimes--what? But I protest I need not ask," he added, as he carelessly strode back towards the supper-table. "In matters of taste the Church has never been backward. . . . Eh?"But Chauvelin was not listening. His every faculty was now concentrated on that door through which presently Desgas would enter.
Marguerite's thoughts, too, were centered there, for her ears had suddenly caught, through the stillness of the night, the sound of numerous and measured treads some distance away.
It was Desgas and his men. Another three minutes and they would be here! Another three minutes and the awful thing would have occurred: the brave eagle would have fallen in the ferret's trap!
