“Nineteen days,” answered Diane, coming a little closer to Egmont and fixing her eyes, sparkling with rage, upon him. “Nineteen days ago these two men came here wounded. I have lived in this place with them ever since--do you understand?”
“Perfectly well,” responded Egmont with an elaborate bow. “Now they and you shall share the fate of the enemies of the Commune. Come with me, all of you.”
He turned and climbed the narrow stone steps again, followed by Diane and Jean and François and old Marie. The mob in the garden had already begun to drink the champagne, and they were so keen to get into the cellar that they scarcely allowed their commander to come up with his prisoners.
“Here,” said Egmont, calling to some National Guards already drunk and trying to get drunker, “find a cart to take these prisoners to the Mazas prison.”
Not the slightest attention was paid to this order until Egmont, drawing his pistol, covered half a dozen National Guards, who then, with champagne bottles tucked under their arms, surrounded Diane and Jean and François. Then Egmont sent one of them to stop a cart rumbling by.
“I can’t trust these fellows,” said Egmont, stroking his mustache; “I shall have to go with you, myself, to see that you are landed safe in the Mazas just around the corner. As for you, Mademoiselle, do you remember the blow you struck me in the face six years ago?”
“With the greatest pleasure,” responded Diane sweetly; “I have never thought of that blow without a thrill of joy.”
“Very well,” replied Egmont, smiling, “perhaps you have not found out, in your retirement with these gentlemen, what has happened to women who are the enemies of the Commune? Twelve Dominican sisters disappeared a week ago. They have never been heard from, and never will be. Now, I intend to make you pay for that blow, not once, but a thousand times over.”
“But you can’t deprive me of the satisfaction I have had all these years in the thought that I struck it,” was Diane’s response, while François remarked:
“I always thought that you, my Marquis of the Holy Angels, were a cad and not a gentleman. Now I know it.”
At this, Jean, who had said nothing, cast a warning glance at Diane and François.
“I know what you mean by that look, Jean,” said Diane, carefully smoothing her hair. “But prudence is of no use when you are in the tiger’s clutch--or rather the rhinoceros--for this fat, ugly creature looks more like a rhinoceros than a tiger. He means to murder us all, and will do it, no matter how polite we might be. Dear me! I really am not properly dressed for a drive through the streets. No hat--no gloves--no parasol.”