"I'll come to you! I will come!"
Proud was the heart of the prisoner, as he heard that cheering speech,
and saw whence it had come. It repaid him for the insults he was
enduring.
It was still ringing sweetly in his ears, as he was forced through a
doorway, and on into a paved court enclosed by gloomy walls.
At the bottom of this, an apartment resembling a prison-cell opened to
receive him.
He was thrust into it, like a refractory bullock brought back to its
pen, one of his guards giving him a kick as he stepped over the
threshold.
He had no chance to retaliate the brutality. The door closed upon him
with a clash and a curse--followed by the shooting of a bolt outside.
Inside the cell all was darkness; and for a moment he remained standing
where the propulsion had left him.
But he was not silent. His heart was full of indignation; and his lips
mechanically gave utterance to it in a wild anathema against all forms
and shapes of despotism.
More than ever did his heart thrill for the Republic; for he knew they
were not its soldiers who surrounded him.
It was the first time he had experienced in his own person the
bitterness of that irresponsible rule confined to the one-man power; and
better than ever he now comprehended the heart-hatred of Roseveldt for
priests, princes, and kings!
"It's plain the Republic's at an end here?" he muttered to himself after
venting that anathema upon its enemies.
"_C'est vrai, monsieur_," said a voice, speaking from the interior of
the cell. "_C'est fini_! It ends this day!"
Maynard started. He had believed himself alone.
"You French speak?" continued the voice. "_Vous etes Anglais_?"
"To your first question," answered Maynard, "Yes! To your second, No!
_Je suis Irlandais_!"
"_Irlandais_! For what have they brought you here? _Pardonnez-moi,
monsieur_! I take the liberties of a fellow-prisoner." Maynard frankly
gave the explanation.
"Ah! my friend," said the Frenchman, on hearing it, "you have nothing to
fear then. With me it is different." A sigh could be heard closing the
speech. "What do you mean, monsieur?" mechanically inquired Maynard.
"_You_ have not committed a crime?"
"Yes! A great crime--that of patriotism! I have been true to my
country--to freedom. I am one of the compromised. My name is L--."
"L--!" cried the Irish-American, recognising a name well-known to the
friends of freedom. "Is it possible? Is it you! My name is Maynard."
"_Mon Dieu_!" exclaimed his French fellow-prisoner. "I've heard of it!
I know you, sir!"
Amidst the darkness the two met in mutual embrace, mutually murmuring
those cherished words, "_Vive la republique_!"