CHAPTER I. “Before I took up the Suffrage,” a firm, flat voice remarked, “I could scarcely walk up-stairs without palpitations. ‘That there governess didn’t like it, of course, me being the lodgekeeper’s girl, and Martha just a country wench like me. That is why you came here, isn’t it?’ ‘Alors, now we know who is the spy, Monsieur Gérard. ‘But I was not there. Fortunately, the window was not far from the ground; so opening it gently, he dropped into a backyard, and from thence got into the street. She didn’t trust Gianfrancesco, you know, she called him a ‘bad husband’. She had trouble outwitting him as he seemed to predict her words before he said them. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience.
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