The Caged Lion
Was there some instinct of humanity left in the soldier who allowed Marguerite
through the barrier into the prisoner's cell? Had the wan face of this beautiful
woman stirred within his heart the last chord of gentleness that was not wholly
atrophied by the constant cruelties, the excesses, the mercilessness which his
service under this fraternising republic constantly demanded of him?
Perhaps some recollection of former years, when first he served his King and
country, recollection of wife or sister or mother pleaded within him in favour of
this sorely-stricken woman with the look of unspeakable sorrow in her large blue
Certain it is that as soon as Marguerite passed the barrier he put himself on
guard against it with his back to the interior of the cell and to her.
Marguerite had paused on the threshold.
After the glaring light of the guard-room the cell seemed dark, and at first she
could hardly see. The whole length of the long, narrow cubicle lay to her left, with
a slight recess at its further end, so that from the threshold of the doorway she
could not see into the distant corner. Swift as a lightning flash the remembrance
came back to her of proud Marie Antoinette narrowing her life to that dark corner
where the insolent eyes of the rabble soldiery could not spy her every movement.
Marguerite stepped further into the room. Gradually by the dim light of an oil lamp
placed upon a table in the recess she began to distinguish various objects: one
or two chairs, another table, and a small but very comfortable-looking camp
Just for a few seconds she only saw these inanimate things, then she became
conscious of Percy's presence.
He sat on a chair, with his left arm half-stretched out upon the table, his bead
hidden in the bend of the elbow.
Marguerite did not utter a cry; she did not even tremble. Just for one brief instant
she closed her eyes, so as to gather up all her courage before she dared to look
again. Then with a steady and noiseless step she came quite close to him. She
knelt on the flagstones at his feet and raised reverently to her lips the hand that
hung nerveless and limp by his side.
He gave a start; a shiver seemed to go right through him; he half raised his head
and murmured in a hoarse whisper:
"I tell you that I do not know, and if I did--"
She put her arms round him and pillowed her head upon his breast. He turned
his head slowly toward her, and now his eyes--hollowed and rimmed with purple-
-looked straight into hers.
"My beloved," he said, "I knew that you would come." His arms closed round her.
There was nothing of lifelessness or of weariness in the passion of that embrace;
and when she looked up again it seemed to her as if that first vision which she
had had of him with weary head bent, and wan, haggard face was not reality,
only a dream born of her own anxiety for him, for now the hot, ardent blood
coursed just as swiftly as ever through his veins, as if life--strong, tenacious,