The Reaping by Rafael Sabatini

Seyrac had watched her every movement with those dark ardent eyes of his, and he sighed when the door closed after her. He flung himself into a chair by the table, and sat there awhile absorbed in thought. When at last he stirred, it was to take up a paper which lay there, where Vidal had left it. It was the _laissez-passer_ that was to provide the Colonel with the means of leaving Paris. He considered it, then dropped it, and rose, stretching himself as if to shake off the despondent lethargy that threatened him.

As his arms dropped back to his sides, his glance settled upon that blue military coat, that spare coat of Vidal's which Angèle had repaired, lying across the back of the chair where she had flung it. For an instant his face was blank. It was a blankness that reflected the shock of astonishment which a sudden idea had wrought upon his mind. The next moment his brows were knit thoughtfully, his dark eyes gleamed and a slow, cunning smile, spiced with a touch of malice, crept round his lips.