to
those gallant gentlemen to bring young Capet back to us. It is all very
simple, unfortunately the prisoner is somewhat obstinate. At first,
even, the idea seemed to amuse him; he used to laugh and say that he
always had the faculty of sleeping with his eyes open. But our soldiers
are untiring in their efforts, and the want of sleep as well as of a
sufficiency of food and of fresh air is certainly beginning to tell on
Sir Percy Blakeney's magnificent physique. I don't think that it will be
very long before he gives way to our gentle persuasions; and in any case
now, I assure you, dear lady, that we need not fear any attempt on
his part to escape. I doubt if he could walk very steadily across this
room--"

Marguerite had sat quite silent and apparently impassive all the while
that Chauvelin had been speaking; even now she scarcely stirred. Her
face expressed absolutely nothing but deep puzzlement. There was a frown
between her brows, and her eyes, which were always of such liquid
blue, now looked almost black. She was trying to visualise that which
Chauvelin had put before her: a man harassed day and night, unceasingly,
unremittingly, with one question allowed neither respite nor sleep--his
brain, soul, and body fagged out at every hour, every moment of the day
and night, until mind and body and soul must inevitably give way under
anguish ten thousand times more unendurable than any physical torment
invented by monsters in barbaric times.

That man thus harassed, thus fagged out, thus martyrised at all hours of
the day and night, was her husband, whom she loved with every fibre of
her being, with every throb of her heart.

Torture? Oh, no! these were advanced and civilised times that could
afford to look with horror on the excesses of medieval days. This was
a revolution that made for progress, and challenged the opinion of the
world. The cells of the Temple of La Force or the Conciergerie held no
secret inquisition with iron maidens and racks and thumbscrews; but
a few men had put their tortuous brains together, and had said one to
another: "We want to find out from that man where we can lay our hands
on little Capet, so we won't let him sleep until he has told us. It
is not torture--oh, no! Who would dare to say that we torture our
prisoners? It is only a little horseplay, worrying to the prisoner, no
doubt; but, after all, he can end the unpleasantness at any moment. He
need but to answer our question, and he ca