THE LOVERS’ TOWER
The torture-chamber showed beneath him. It was a large, irregular
room, divided into unequal portions by the four wide, massive
pillars that supported its arched roof. A smell of damp and mildew
came from its walls and from its flags moistened by the water that
trickled from without. Its appearance at any time must have been
gruesome. But, at that moment, with the tall figures of Sébastiani
and his sons, with the slanting gleams of light that fell between
the pillars, with the vision of the captive chained down upon the
truckle-bed, it assumed a sinister and barbarous aspect.
Daubrecq was in the front part of the room, four or five yards down
from the window at which Lupin lurked. In addition to the ancient
chains that had been used to fasten him to his bed and to fasten
the bed to an iron hook in the wall, his wrists and ankles were
girt with leather thongs; and an ingenious arrangement caused his
least movement to set in motion a bell hung to the nearest pillar.
A lamp placed on a stool lit him full in the face.
The Marquis d’Albufex was standing beside him. Lupin could see
his pale features, his grizzled moustache, his long, lean form as
he looked at his prisoner with an expression of content and of
gratified hatred.
A few minutes passed in profound silence. Then the marquis gave an
order:
“Light those three candles, Sébastiani, so that I can see him
better.”
And, when the three candles were lit and he had taken a long look
at Daubrecq, he stooped over him and said, almost gently:
“I can’t say what will be the end of you and me. But at any rate
I shall have had some deuced happy moments in this room. You have
done me so much harm, Daubrecq! The tears you have made me shed!
Yes, real tears, real sobs of despair.... The money you have robbed
me of! A fortune!... And my terror at the thought that you might
give me away! You had but to utter my name to complete my ruin and
bring about my disgrace!... Oh, you villain!...”
Daubrecq did not budge. He had been deprived of his black glasses,
but still kept his spectacles, which reflected the light from the
candles. He had lost a good deal of flesh; and the bones stood out
above his sunken cheeks.
“Come along,” said d’Albufex. “The time has come to act. It seems
that there are rogues prowling about the neighbourhood. Heaven
forbid that they are here on your account and try to release you;
for that would mean your immediate death, as you know.... Is the
trapdoor still in working order, Sébastiani?”
Sébastiani came nearer, knelt on one knee and lifted and turned a
ring, at the foot of the bed, which Lupin had not noticed. One of
the flagstones moved on a pivot, disclosing a black hole.
“You see,” the marquis continued, “everything is provided for; and
I have all that I want at hand, including dungeons: bottomless
dungeons, says the legend of the castle. So there is nothing to
hope for, no help of any kind. Will you speak?”
Daubrecq did not reply; and he went on:
“This is the fourth time that I am questioning you, Daubrecq. It is
the fourth time that I have troubled to ask you for the document
which you possess, in order that I may escape your blackmailing
proceedings. It is the fourth time and the last. Will you speak?”
The same silence as before. D’Albufex made a sign to Sébastiani.
The huntsman stepped forward, followed by two of his sons. One of
them held a stick in his hand.
“Go ahead,” said d’Albufex, after waiting a few seconds.
Sébastiani slackened the thongs that bound Daubrecq’s wrists and
inserted and fixed the stick between the thongs.
“Shall I turn, monsieur le marquis?”
A further silence. The marquis waited. Seeing that Daubrecq did not
flinch, he whispered:
“Can’t you speak? Why expose yourself to physical suffering?”
No reply.
“Turn away, Sébastiani.”
Sébastiani made the stick turn a complete circle. The thongs
stretched and tightened. Daubrecq gave a groan.
“You won’t speak? Still, you know that I won’t give way, that I
can’t give way, that I hold you and that, if necessary, I shall
torture you till you die of it. You won’t speak? You won’t?...
Sébastiani, once more.”
The huntsman obeyed. Daubrecq gave a violent start of pain and fell
back on his bed with a rattle in his throat.
“You fool!” cried the marquis, shaking with rage. “Why don’t you
speak? What, haven’t you had enough of that list? Surely it’s
somebody else’s turn! Come, speak.... Where is it? One word. One
word only . . . and we will leave you in peace.... And, to-morrow,
when I have the list, you shall be free. Free, do you understand?
But, in Heaven’s name, speak!... Oh, the brute! Sébastiani, one
more turn.”
Sébastiani made a fresh effort. The bones cracked.
“Help! Help!” cried Daubrecq, in a hoarse voice, vainly struggling
to release himself. And, in a spluttering whisper, “Mercy . . .
mercy.”
It was a dreadful sight.... The faces of the three sons were
horror-struck. Lupin shuddered, sick at heart, and realized that
he himself could never have accomplished that abominable thing. He
listened for the words that were bound to come. He must learn the
truth. Daubrecq’s secret was about to be expressed in syllables,
in words wrung from him by pain. And Lupin began to think of his
retreat, of the car which was waiting for him, of the wild rush to
Paris, of the victory at hand.
“Speak,” whispered d’Albufex. “Speak and it will be over.”
“Yes . . . yes . . .” gasped Daubrecq.
“Well...?”
“Later . . . to-morrow....”
“Oh, you’re mad!... What are you talking about: to-morrow?...
Sébastiani, another turn!”
“No, no!” yelled Daubrecq. “Stop!”
“Speak!”
“Well, then . . . the paper.... I have hidden the paper....”
But his pain was too great. He raised his head with a last effort,
uttered incoherent words, succeeded in twice saying, “Marie....
Marie....” and fell back, exhausted and lifeless.
“Let go at once!” said d’Albufex to Sébastiani. “Hang it all, can
we have overdone it?”
But a rapid examination showed him that Daubrecq had only fainted.
Thereupon, he himself, worn out with the excitement, dropped on
the foot of the bed and, wiping the beads of perspiration from his
forehead, stammered:
“Oh, what a dirty business!”
“Perhaps that’s enough for to-day,” said the huntsman, whose rough
face betrayed a certain emotion. “We might try again to-morrow or
the next day....”
The marquis was silent. One of the sons handed him a flask of
brandy. He poured out half a glass and drank it down at a draught:
“To-morrow?” he said. “No. Here and now. One little effort more. At
the stage which he has reached, it won’t be difficult.” And, taking
the huntsman aside, “Did you hear what he said? What did he mean by
that word, ‘Marie’? He repeated it twice.”
“Yes, twice,” said the huntsman. “Perhaps he entrusted the document
to a person called Marie.”
“Not he!” protested d’Albufex. “He never entrusts anything to
anybody. It means something different.”
“But what, monsieur le marquis?”
“We’ll soon find out, I’ll answer for it.”
At that moment, Daubrecq drew a long breath and stirred on his
couch.
D’Albufex, who had now recovered all his composure and who did not
take his eyes off the enemy, went up to him and said:
“You see, Daubrecq, it’s madness to resist.... Once you’re beaten,
there’s nothing for it but to submit to your conqueror, instead
of allowing yourself to be tortured like an idiot.... Come, be
sensible.”
He turned to Sébastiani:
“Tighten the rope . . . let him feel it a little that will wake him
up.... He’s shamming death....” Sébastiani took hold of the stick
again and turned until the cord touched the swollen flesh. Daubrecq
gave a start.
“That’ll do, Sébastiani,” said the marquis. “Our friend seems
favourably disposed and understands the need for coming to terms.
That’s so, Daubrecq, is it not? You prefer to have done with it?
And you’re quite right!”
The two men were leaning over the sufferer, Sébastiani with his
hand on the stick, d’Albufex holding the lamp so as to throw the
light on Daubrecq’s face: “His lips are moving . . . he’s going
to speak. Loosen the rope a little, Sébastiani: I don’t want our
friend to be hurt.... No, tighten it: I believe our friend is
hesitating.... One turn more . . . stop!... That’s done it! Oh, my
dear Daubrecq, if you can’t speak plainer than that, it’s no use!
What? What did you say?”
Arsène Lupin muttered an oath. Daubrecq was speaking and he, Lupin,
could not hear a word of what he said! In vain, he pricked up his
ears, suppressed the beating of his heart and the throbbing of his
temples: not a sound reached him.
“Confound it!” he thought. “I never expected this. What am I to do?”
He was within an ace of covering Daubrecq with his revolver and
putting a bullet into him which would cut short any explanation.
But he reflected that he himself would then be none the wiser and
that it was better to trust to events in the hope of making the
most of them.
Meanwhile the confession continued beneath him, indistinctly,
interrupted by silences and mingled with moans. D’Albufex clung to
his prey:
“Go on!... Finish, can’t you?...”
And he punctuated the sentences with exclamations of approval:
“Good!... Capital!... Oh, how funny!... And no one suspected?...
Not even Prasville?... What an ass!... Loosen a bit, Sébastiani:
don’t you see that our friend is out of breath?... Keep calm,
Daubrecq . . . don’t tire yourself.... And so, my dear fellow, you
were saying....”
That was the last. There was a long whispering to which d’Albufex
listened without further interruption and of which Arsène Lupin
could not catch the least syllable. Then the marquis drew himself
up and exclaimed, joyfully:
“That’s it!.... Thank you, Daubrecq. And, believe me, I shall
never forget what you have just done. If ever you’re in need, you
have only to knock at my door and there will always be a crust of
bread for you in the kitchen and a glass of water from the filter.
Sébastiani, look after monsieur le député as if he were one of
your sons. And, first of all, release him from his bonds. It’s a
heartless thing to truss one’s fellow-man like that, like a chicken
on the spit!”
“Shall we give him something to drink?” suggested the huntsman.
“Yes, that’s it, give him a drink.”
Sébastiani and his sons undid the leather straps, rubbed the
bruised wrists, dressed them with an ointment and bandaged them.
Then Daubrecq swallowed a few drops of brandy.
“Feeling better?” said the marquis. “Pooh, it’s nothing much! In
a few hours, it won’t show; and you’ll be able to boast of having
been tortured, as in the good old days of the Inquisition. You
lucky dog!”
He took out his watch. “Enough said! Sébastiani, let your sons
watch him in turns. You, take me to the station for the last train.”
“Then are we to leave him like that, monsieur le marquis, free to
move as he pleases?”
“Why not? You don’t imagine that we are going to keep him here to
the day of his death? No, Daubrecq, sleep quietly. I shall go to
your place to-morrow afternoon; and, if the document is where you
told me, a telegram shall be sent off at once and you shall be set
free. You haven’t told me a lie, I suppose?”
He went back to Daubrecq and, stooping over him again:
“No humbug, eh? That would be very silly of you. I should lose a
day, that’s all. Whereas you would lose all the days that remain to
you to live. But no, the hiding-place is too good. A fellow doesn’t
invent a thing like that for fun. Come on, Sébastiani. You shall
have the telegram to-morrow.”
“And suppose they don’t let you into the house, monsieur le
marquis?”
“Why shouldn’t they?”
“The house in the Square Lamartine is occupied by Prasville’s men.”
“Don’t worry, Sébastiani. I shall get in. If they don’t open the
door, there’s always the window. And, if the window won’t open,
I shall arrange with one of Prasville’s men. It’s a question of
money, that’s all. And, thank goodness, I shan’t be short of that,
henceforth! Good-night, Daubrecq.”
He went out, accompanied by Sébastiani, and the heavy door closed
after them.
Lupin at once effected his retreat, in accordance with a plan which
he had worked out during this scene.
The plan was simple enough: to scramble, by means of his rope,
to the bottom of the cliff, take his friends with him, jump into
the motor-car and attack d’Albufex and Sébastiani on the deserted
road that leads to Aumale Station. There could be no doubt about
the issue of the contest. With d’Albufex and Sébastiani prisoners;
it would be an easy matter to make one of them speak. D’Albufex
had shown him how to set about it; and Clarisse Mergy would be
inflexible where it was a question of saving her son.
He took the rope with which he had provided himself and groped
about to find a jagged piece of rock round which to pass it, so
as to leave two equal lengths hanging, by which he could let
himself down. But, when he found what he wanted, instead of
acting swiftly--for the business was urgent--he stood motionless,
thinking. His scheme failed to satisfy him at the last moment.
“It’s absurd, what I’m proposing,” he said to himself. “Absurd and
illogical. How can I tell that d’Albufex and Sébastiani will not
escape me? How can I even tell that, once they are in my power,
they will speak? No, I shall stay. There are better things to
try . . . much better things. It’s not those two I must be at, but
Daubrecq. He’s done for; he has not a kick left in him. If he has
told the marquis his secret, there is no reason why he shouldn’t
tell it to Clarisse and me, when we employ the same methods.
That’s settled! We’ll kidnap the Daubrecq bird.” And he continued,
“Besides, what do I risk? If the scheme miscarries, Clarisse and
I will rush off to Paris and, together with Prasville, organize a
careful watch in the Square Lamartine to prevent d’Albufex from
benefiting by Daubrecq’s revelations. The great thing is for
Prasville to be warned of the danger. He shall be.”
The church-clock in a neighbouring village struck twelve. That gave
Lupin six or seven hours to put his new plan into execution. He set
to work forthwith.
When moving away from the embrasure which had the window at the
bottom of it, he had come upon a clump of small shrubs in one of
the hollows of the cliff. He cut away a dozen of these, with his
knife, and whittled them all down to the same size. Then he cut off
two equal lengths from his rope. These were the uprights of the
ladder. He fastened the twelve little sticks between the uprights
and thus contrived a rope-ladder about six yards long.
When he returned to this post, there was only one of the three sons
beside Daubrecq’s bed in the torture-chamber. He was smoking his
pipe by the lamp. Daubrecq was asleep.
“Hang it!” thought Lupin. “Is the fellow going to sit there all
night? In that case, there’s nothing for me to do but to slip
off....”
The idea that d’Albufex was in possession of the secret vexed him
mightily. The interview at which he had assisted had left the clear
impression in his mind that the marquis was working “on his own”
and that, in securing the list, he intended not only to escape
Daubrecq’s activity, but also to gain Daubrecq’s power and build up
his fortune anew by the identical means which Daubrecq had employed.
That would have meant, for Lupin, a fresh battle to wage against
a fresh enemy. The rapid march of events did not allow of the
contemplation of such a possibility. He must at all costs spike the
Marquis d’Albufex’ guns by warning Prasville.
However, Lupin remained held back by the stubborn hope of some
incident that would give him the opportunity of acting.
The clock struck half-past twelve.
It struck one.
The waiting became terrible, all the more so as an icy mist rose
from the valley and Lupin felt the cold penetrate to his very
marrow.
He heard the trot of a horse in the distance:
“Sébastiani returning from the station,” he thought.
But the son who was watching in the torture-chamber, having
finished his packet of tobacco, opened the door and asked his
brothers if they had a pipeful for him. They made some reply; and
he went out to go to the lodge.
And Lupin was astounded. No sooner was the door closed than
Daubrecq, who had been so sound asleep, sat up on his couch,
listened, put one foot to the ground, followed by the other, and,
standing up, tottering a little, but firmer on his legs than one
would have expected, tried his strength.
“Well” said Lupin, “the beggar doesn’t take long recovering. He
can very well help in his own escape. There’s just one point that
ruffles me: will he allow himself to be convinced? Will he consent
to go with me? Will he not think that this miraculous assistance
which comes to him straight from heaven is a trap laid by the
marquis?”
But suddenly Lupin remembered the letter which he had made
Daubrecq’s old cousins write, the letter of recommendation, so to
speak, which the elder of the two sisters Rousselot had signed with
her Christian name, Euphrasie.
It was in his pocket. He took it and listened. Not a sound, except
the faint noise of Daubrecq’s footsteps on the flagstones. Lupin
considered that the moment had come. He thrust his arm through the
bars and threw the letter in.
Daubrecq seemed thunderstruck.
The letter had fluttered through the room and lay on the floor, at
three steps from him. Where did it come from? He raised his head
toward the window and tried to pierce the darkness that hid all
the upper part of the room from his eyes. Then he looked at the
envelope, without yet daring to touch it, as though he dreaded
a snare. Then, suddenly, after a glance at the door, he stooped
briskly, seized the envelope and opened it.
“Ah,” he said, with a sigh of delight, when he saw the signature.
He read the letter half-aloud:
“Rely implicitly on the bearer of this note. He has succeeded
in discovering the marquis’ secret, with the money which we
gave him, and has contrived a plan of escape. Everything is
prepared for your flight.
“EUPHRASIE ROUSSELOT.”
He read the letter again, repeated, “Euphrasie.... Euphrasie....”
and raised his head once more.
Lupin whispered:
“It will take me two or three hours to file through one of the
bars. Are Sébastiani and his sons coming back?”
“Yes, they are sure to,” replied Daubrecq, in the same low voice,
“but I expect they will leave me to myself.”
“But they sleep next door?”
“Yes.”
“Won’t they hear?”
“No, the door is too thick.”
“Very well. In that case, it will soon be done. I have a
rope-ladder. Will you be able to climb up alone, without my
assistance?”
“I think so.... I’ll try.... It’s my wrists that they’ve broken....
Oh, the brutes! I can hardly move my hands . . . and I have very
little strength left. But I’ll try all the same . . . needs
must....”
He stopped, listened and, with his finger to his mouth, whispered:
“Hush!”
When Sébastiani and his sons entered the room, Daubrecq, who had
hidden the letter and lain down on his bed, pretended to wake with
a start.
The huntsman brought him a bottle of wine, a glass and some food:
“How goes it, monsieur le député?” he cried. “Well, perhaps we did
squeeze a little hard.... It’s very painful, that thumbscrewing.
Seems they often did it at the time of the Great Revolution and
Bonaparte . . . in the days of the _chauffeurs_.[C] A pretty
invention! Nice and clean . . . no bloodshed.... And it didn’t
last long either! In twenty minutes, you came out with the missing
word!” Sébastiani burst out laughing. “By the way, monsieur le
député, my congratulations! A capital hiding-place. Who would ever
suspect it?... You see, what put us off, monsieur le marquis and
me, was that name of Marie which you let out at first. You weren’t
telling a lie; but there you are, you know: the word was only
half-finished. We had to know the rest. Say what you like, it’s
amusing! Just think, on your study-table! Upon my word, what a
joke!”
The huntsman rose and walked up and down the room, rubbing his
hands:
“Monsieur le marquis is jolly well pleased, so pleased, in fact,
that he himself is coming to-morrow evening to let you out. Yes, he
has thought it over; there will be a few formalities: you may have
to sign a cheque or two, stump up, what, and make good monsieur le
marquis’ expense and trouble. But what’s that to you? A trifle!
Not to mention that, from now on, there will be no more chains, no
more straps round your wrists; in short, you will be treated like
a king! And I’ve even been told--look here!--to allow you a good
bottle of old wine and a flask of brandy.”
Sébastiani let fly a few more jests, then took the lamp, made a
last examination of the room and said to his sons:
“Let’s leave him to sleep. You also, take a rest, all three of you.
But sleep with one eye open. One never can tell....” They withdrew.
Lupin waited a little longer and asked, in a low voice:
“Can I begin?”
“Yes, but be careful. It’s not impossible that they may go on a
round in an hour or two.”
Lupin set to work. He had a very powerful file; and the iron of
the bars, rusted and gnawed away by time, was, in places, almost
reduced to dust. Twice Lupin stopped to listen, with ears pricked
up. But it was only the patter of a rat over the rubbish in the
upper story, or the flight of some night-bird; and he continued his
task, encouraged by Daubrecq, who stood by the door, ready to warn
him at the least alarm.
“Oof!” he said, giving a last stroke of the file. “I’m glad that’s
over, for, on my word, I’ve been a bit cramped in this cursed
tunnel . . . to say nothing of the cold....”
He bore with all his strength upon the bar, which he had sawn from
below, and succeeded in forcing it down sufficiently for a man’s
body to slip between the two remaining bars. Next, he had to go
back to the end of the embrasure, the wider part, where he had left
the rope-ladder. After fixing it to the bars, he called Daubrecq:
“Psst!... It’s all right.... Are you ready?”
“Yes . . . coming.... One more second, while I listen.... All
right.... They’re asleep.... give me the ladder.”
Lupin lowered it and asked:
“Must I come down?”
“No.... I feel a little weak . . . but I shall manage.”
Indeed, he reached the window of the embrasure pretty quickly and
crept along the passage in the wake of his rescuer. The open air,
however, seemed to make him giddy. Also, to give himself strength,
he had drunk half the bottle of wine; and he had a fainting-fit
that kept him lying on the stones of the embrasure for half an
hour. Lupin, losing patience, was fastening him to one end of the
rope, of which the other end was knotted round the bars and was
preparing to let him down like a bale of goods, when Daubrecq woke
up, in better condition:
“That’s over,” he said. “I feel fit now. Will it take long?”
“Pretty long. We are a hundred and fifty yards up.”
“How was it that d’Albufex did not foresee that it was possible to
escape this way?”
“The cliff is perpendicular.”
“And you were able to....”
“Well, your cousins insisted.... And then one has to live, you
know, and they were free with their money.”
“The dear, good souls!” said Daubrecq. “Where are they?”
“Down below, in a boat.”
“Is there a river, then?”
“Yes, but we won’t talk, if you don’t mind. It’s dangerous.”
“One word more. Had you been there long when you threw me the
letter?”
“No, no. A quarter of an hour or so. I’ll tell you all about it....
Meanwhile, we must hurry.”
Lupin went first, after recommending Daubrecq to hold tight to the
rope and to come down backward. He would give him a hand at the
difficult places.
It took them over forty minutes to reach the platform of the ledge
formed by the cliff; and Lupin had several times to help his
companion, whose wrists, still bruised from the torture, had lost
all their strength and suppleness.
Over and over again, he groaned:
“Oh, the swine, they’ve done for me!... The swine!... Ah,
d’Albufex, I’ll make you pay dear for this!...”
“Ssh!” said Lupin.
“What’s the matter?”
“A noise . . . up above....”
Standing motionless on the platform, they listened. Lupin thought
of the Sire de Tancarville and the sentry who had killed him with
a shot from his harquebus. He shivered, feeling all the anguish of
the silence and the darkness.
“No,” he said, “I was mistaken.... Besides, it’s absurd.... They
can’t hit us here.”
“Who would hit us?”
“No one . . . no one... it was a silly notion....”
He groped about till he found the uprights of the ladder; then he
said:
“There, here’s the ladder. It is fixed in the bed of the river. A
friend of mine is looking after it, as well as your cousins.”
He whistled:
“Here I am,” he said, in a low voice. “Hold the ladder fast.” And,
to Daubrecq, “I’ll go first.”
Daubrecq objected:
“Perhaps it would be better for me to go down first.”
“Why?”
“I am very tired. You can tie your rope round my waist and hold
me.... Otherwise, there is a danger that I might....”
“Yes, you are right,” said Lupin. “Come nearer.”
Daubrecq came nearer and knelt down on the rock. Lupin fastened the
rope to him and then, stooping over, grasped one of the uprights in
both hands to keep the ladder from shaking:
“Off you go,” he said.
At the same moment, he felt a violent pain in the shoulder:
“Blast it!” he said, sinking to the ground.
Daubrecq had stabbed him with a knife below the nape of the neck, a
little to the right.
“You blackguard! You blackguard!”
He half-saw Daubrecq, in the dark, ridding himself of his rope, and
heard him whisper:
“You’re a bit of a fool, you know!... You bring me a letter
from my Rousselot cousins, in which I recognize the writing of
the elder, Adelaide, but which that sly puss of an Adelaide,
suspecting something and meaning to put me on my guard, if
necessary, took care to sign with the name of the younger sister,
Euphrasie Rousselot. You see, I tumbled to it! So, with a little
reflection . . . you are Master Arsène Lupin, are you not?
Clarisse’s protector, Gilbert’s saviour.... Poor Lupin, I fear
you’re in a bad way.... I don’t use the knife often; but, when I
do, I use it with a vengeance.”
He bent over the wounded man and felt in his pockets:
“Give me your revolver, can’t you? You see, your friends will know
at once that it is not their governor; and they will try to secure
me.... And, as I have not much strength left, a bullet or two....
Good-bye, Lupin. We shall meet in the next world, eh? Book me a
nice flat, with all the latest conveniences.
“Good-bye, Lupin. And my best thanks. For really I don’t know what
I should have done without you. By Jove, d’Albufex was hitting me
hard! It’ll be a joke to meet the beggar again!”
Daubrecq had completed his preparations. He whistled once more. A
reply came from the boat.
“Here I am,” he said.
With a last effort, Lupin put out his arm to stop him. But his
hand touched nothing but space. He tried to call out, to warn his
accomplices: his voice choked in his throat.
He felt a terrible numbness creep over his whole being. His temples
buzzed.
Suddenly, shouts below. Then a shot. Then another, followed by a
triumphant chuckle. And a woman’s wail and moans. And, soon after,
two more shots.
Lupin thought of Clarisse, wounded, dead perhaps; of Daubrecq,
fleeing victoriously; of d’Albufex; of the crystal stopper, which
one or other of the two adversaries would recover unresisted. Then
a sudden vision showed him the Sire de Tancarville falling with the
woman he loved. Then he murmured, time after time:
“Clarisse.... Clarisse.... Gilbert....” A great silence overcame
him; an infinite peace entered into him; and, without the least
revolt, he received the impression that his exhausted body, with
nothing now to hold it back, was rolling to the very edge of the
rock, toward the abyss.
[C] The name given to the brigands in the Vendée, who tortured
their victims with fire to make them confess where their money was
hidden.--_Translator’s Note._