"
She waited a moment, looking him straight and quite dispassionately
in the face; then she said coldly:
"Very well! I will go."
"When?" he asked.
"This evening."
"Just as you wish. I would have to go and see my friend Heron
first, and arrange with him for your visit."
"Then go. I will follow in half an hour."
"C'est entendu. Will you be at the main entrance of the
Conciergerie at half-past nine? You know it, perhaps--no? It is
in the Rue de la Barillerie, immediately on the right at the foot
of the great staircase of the house of Justice."
"Of the house of Justice!" she exclaimed involuntarily, a world of
bitter contempt in her cry. Then she added in her former
matter-of-fact tones:
"Very good, citizen. At half-past nine I will be at the entrance
you name."
"And I will be at the door prepared to escort you."
He took up his hat and coat and bowed ceremoniously to her. Then
he turned to go. At the door a cry from her--involuntarily
enough, God knows!--made him pause.
"My interview with the prisoner," she said, vainly try mg, poor
soul! to repress that quiver of anxiety in her voice, "it will be
private?"
"Oh, yes! Of course," he replied with a reassuring smile. "Au
revoir, Lady Blakeney! Half-past nine, remember--"
She could no longer trust herself to look on him as he finally
took his departure.
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