In every line of his beautiful face, marred as it was by sickness and suffering--in the unconquerable dignity, which dirt and raggedness were powerless to hide, the fatal nobility of his birth and breeding were betrayed.

When he returned to the ante-room, he did not positively know his fate; but in his mind there was a moral certainty that left him no hope.
The room was filled with other prisoners awaiting trial; and, as he entered, his eyes wandered round it to see if there were any familiar faces.

They fell upon two figures standing with their backs to him--a tall, fierce-looking man, who, despite his height and fierceness, had a restless, nervous despondency expressed in all his movements; and a young girl who leant on his arm as if for support, but whose steady quietude gave her more the air of a supporter.

Without seeing their faces, and for no reasonable reason, Monsieur the Viscount decided with himself that they were the Baron and his daughter, and he begged the man who was conducting him for a moment's delay.

The man consented.