"Could she do it?" I asked, horrified.
"God knows," he whispered.
Soldiers were beginning to clamber up the garden wall from the
outside; torches were raised to investigate. As we shrank back
into the shadow of the shrubbery I stumbled over something
soft--Jacqueline's clothes, lying in a circle as she had stepped out
of them.
Speed took them. I followed him, creeping back to the window, where we
entered in time to avoid discovery by a wretch who had succeeded in
mounting the wall, torch in hand.
One or two soldiers climbed over and dropped into the garden, prowling
around, prodding the bushes with their bayonets, even coming to press
their dirty faces and hands against our window.
"They're all here!" sang out one. "It was an owl, I tell you!" And
he menaced us with his rifle in pantomime and retired, calling his
companions to follow.
"Where is Jacqueline?" asked the Countess, looking anxiously at the
little blue skirt on Speed's knees. "Have they harmed that child?"