"The keeper of the fortress will permit the bearer of
this to converse for half an hour with either of the two
prisoners of war, as he may choose.
"CLAIRE-CLÉMENCE DE CONDÉ."
"You have a suit of man's clothes," said Lenet; "put it on. You have
the permit; use it."
"Poor fellow!" murmured Claire, unable to banish from her mind the
thought of Cauvignac to be executed in place of Canolles.
"He undergoes the common fate," said Lenet. "Being weak, he is devoured
by the strong; having no protector, he pays for him who has; he is an
intelligent fellow."
Claire meanwhile was turning the paper over and over in her hands.
"Do you know," said she, "that you tempt me cruelly with this permit?
Do you know that if I once hold my poor friend in my arms I am quite
capable of taking him with me to the ends of the world?"
"I would advise you to do it, madame, if it were possible; but this
permit does not give you _carte-blanche,_ and you can use it for no
other purpose than that for which it was intended."
"True," said Claire, reading it once more; "and yet they have given me
Monsieur de Canolles; he is mine; they cannot take him from me again!"
"Nor does any one think of doing so. Come, come, madame, waste no time;
don your male costume, and begone. This permit gives you half an hour;
I know that half an hour is very little; but after the half-hour will
come your whole life. You are young, and have many years before you;
God grant that they be happy years."
Claire seized Lenet's hand, drew him to her side, and kissed his
forehead as she might have done to the most affectionate of fathers.
"Go, go," said Lenet, pushing her gently toward the door, "do not lose
time; the man who truly loves is never resigned."
As he watched her pass into another room, where Pompée, at her bidding,
was waiting to assist in her transformation,--
"Alas!" he muttered, "who knows?"