Prisoners of Chance

The sentinel, whom I discovered facing forward, hardly more than two paces from that door having the figures "18" painted upon it, quickly lowered his gun as I lurched unsteadily into sight. Greatly to my relief, as soon as he obtained distinct view of his unexpected visitor, he returned the piece carelessly to his shoulder, and leaned back, his elbow against the arm-rack. He was a good-natured-looking fellow, with round, boyish face, upon which streamed the full glare of a swinging-lamp suspended from a chain fastened to an upper beam. His unsuspicious appearance served greatly to reassure me.

"I give thee peace of Holy Church, my son," I muttered solemnly, leaning heavily against the jamb of the door, uplifting my hand in benediction. "May the presence of the Mother and Child guard thee in time of battle."

The face of the young soldier grew sober, and he withdrew one hand from its grasp on the shining musket piously to make the sign of the cross.

"I thank thee, padre, for thy blessing," he returned gratefully. "It will be in accord with the prayers of those I left at home in Spain."

Whether or not guards on duty in the corridor had orders to pass the father unquestioned, this lad, at least, made no effort to prevent my inserting the great iron key within the lock of the door. Doubtless my possession of it was accepted as evidence of my right to its use; anyway he remained there in that same careless posture, a pleased smile on his face, watching me curiously. The heavy nail-studded door swung noiselessly ajar; with single questioning glance backward at the motionless sentry, I stepped within, closed it behind me, and stood, my heart throbbing fiercely, face to face with her husband--the man to whom had been given the woman I loved,--Chevalier Charles de Noyan, condemned to die at sunrise.