Sebastian had been softened by
action, through which his mental energy had found an outlet. But
to-night he was his old self again--hard, scornful,
incomprehensible.
"I have heard nothing of him," said Desiree.
Sebastian was stamping the snow from his boots.
"But I have," he said, without looking up.
Desiree said nothing. She knew that the secret she had guarded so
carefully--the secret kept by herself and Louis--was hers no longer.
In the silence of the next moments she could hear Barlasch breathing
on his fingers, within the kitchen doorway just behind her.
Mathilde made a little movement. She was on the stairs, and she
moved nearer to the balustrade and held to it breathlessly. For
Charles Darragon's secret was De Casimir's too.
"These two gentlemen," said Sebastian slowly, "were in the secret
service of Napoleon. They are hardly likely to return to Dantzig."
"Why not?" asked Mathilde.
"They dare not."
"I think the Emperor will be able to protect his officers," said
Mathilde.
"But not his spies," replied Sebastian coldly.
"Since they wore his uniform, they cannot be blamed for doing their
duty. They are brave enough. They would hardly avoid returning to
Dantzig because--because they have outwitted the Tugendbund."
Mathilde's face was colourless with anger, and her quiet eyes
flashed. She had been surprised into this sudden advocacy, and an
advocate who displays temper is always a dangerous ally.
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