'
I was at my wit's ends what to do, whether to be silent, or to tell her
of the terrible position in which her lover was placed; but, even as I
hesitated, she, with the quick intuition of a woman, read the doubts
which were in my mind.
'You know something of him,' she cried. 'I understood that he had gone
to Paris. For God's sake tell me what you know about him!'
'His name is Lesage?'
'Yes, yes. Lucien Lesage.'
'I have--I have seen him,' I stammered.
'You have seen him! And you only arrived in France last night.
Where did you see him? What has happened to him?' She gripped me by the
wrist in her anxiety.
It was cruel to tell her, and yet it seemed more cruel still to keep
silent. I looked round in my bewilderment, and there was my uncle
himself coming along over the close-cropped green lawn. By his side,
with a merry clashing of steel and jingling of spurs, there walked a
handsome young hussar--the same to whom the charge of the prisoner had
been committed upon the night before. Sibylle never hesitated for an
instant, but, with a set face and blazing eyes, she swept towards them.
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