"To the house at the sign of 'Le fort Samson,' in the Rue de Seine,"
replied Rateau curtly. "They'll serve you well if you mention my name."
Of course Lucienne protested. She was a decent woman, who had never been
inside a cabaret in her life.
"Then it's time you began," was Rateau's dry comment, which was greeted
with much laughter from his abominable companions.
Lucienne was forced to go. It would, of course, have been futile and
madness to resist. This had occurred three hours since. The Rue de Seine
was not far, but the poor woman had not returned. Esther was left with
this additional horror weighing upon her soul. What had happened to her
unfortunate servant? Visions of outrage and murder floated before the
poor girl's tortured brain. At best, Lucienne was being kept out of the
way in order to make her--Esther--feel more lonely and desperate! She
remained at the window after that, watching that light in the house
opposite and fingering her prayer-book, the only solace which she had.
Her attic was so high up and the street so narrow, that she could not
see what went on in the street below. At one time she heard a great
to-do outside her door. It seemed as if some of the bloodhounds who were
set to watch her had gone, or that others came. She really hardly cared
which it was. Then she heard a great commotion coming from the street
immediately beneath her: men shouting and laughing, and that awful
creature's rasping cough.
At one moment she felt sure that Kennard had called to her by name. She
heard his voice distinctly, raised as if in a despairing cry.
After that, all was still.
So still that she could hear her heart beating furiously, and then a
tear falling from her eyes upon her open book. So still that the gentle
patter of the rain sounded like a soothing lullaby. She was very young,
and was very tired. Out, above the line of sloping roofs and chimney
pots, the darkness of the sky was yielding to the first touch of dawn.
The rain ceased. Everything became deathly still. Esther's head fell,
wearied, upon her folded arms.
Then, suddenly, she was wide awake. Something had roused her. A noise.
At first she could not tell what it was, but now she knew. It was the
opening and shutting of the door behind her, and then a quick, stealthy
footstep across the room. The horror of it all was unspeakable. Esther
remained as she had been, on her knees, mechanically fingering her
prayer-book, unable to move, unable to utter a sound, as if paralysed.
She knew that one of those abominable creatures had entered her room,
was coming near her even now. She did not know who it was, only guessed
it was Rateau, for she heard a raucous, stertorous wheeze. Yet she could
not have then turned to look if her life had depended upon her doing so.
The whole thing had occurred in less than half a dozen heart-beats. The
next moment the wretch was close to her. Mercifully she felt that her
senses were leaving her. Even so, she felt that a handkerchief was being
bound over her mouth to prevent her screaming. Wholly unnecessary this,
for she could not have uttered a sound. Then she was lifted off the
ground and carried across the room, then over the threshold. A vague,
subconscious effort of will helped her to keep her head averted from
that wheezing wretch who was carrying her. Thus she could see the
landing, and two of those abominable watchdogs who had been set to guard
her.
The ghostly grey light of dawn came peeping in through the narrow dormer
window in the sloping roof, and faintly illumined their sprawling forms,
stretched out at full length, with their heads buried in their folded
arms and their naked legs looking pallid and weird in the dim light.
Their stertorous breathing woke the echoes of the bare, stone walls.
Esther shuddered and closed her eyes. She was now like an insentient
log, without power, or thought, or will--almost without feeling.
Then, all at once, the coolness of the morning air caught her full in
the face. She opened her eyes and tried to move, but those powerful arms
held her more closely than before. Now she could have shrieked with
horror. With returning consciousness the sense of her desperate position
came on her with its full and ghastly significance, its awe-inspiring
details. The grey dawn, the abandoned wretch who held her, and the
stillness of this early morning hour, when not one pitying soul would be
astir to lend her a helping hand or give her the solace of mute
sympathy. So great, indeed, was this stillness that the click of the
man's sabots upon the uneven pavement reverberated, ghoul-like and
weird.
And it was through that awesome stillness that a sound suddenly struck
her ear, which, in the instant, made her feel that she was not really
alive, or, if alive, was sleeping and dreaming strange and impossible
dreams. It was the sound of a voice, clear and firm, and with a
wonderful ring of merriment in its tones, calling out just above a
whisper, and in English, if you please:
"Look out, Ffoulkes! That young cub is as strong as a horse. He will
give us all away if you are not careful."
A dream? Of course it was a dream, for the voice had sounded very close
to her ear; so close, in fact, that ... well! Esther was quite sure that
her face still rested against the hideous, tattered, and grimy coat
which that repulsive Rateau had been wearing all along. And there was
the click of his sabots upon the pavement all the time. So, then, the
voice and the merry, suppressed laughter which accompanied it, must all
have been a part of her dream. How long this lasted she could not have
told you. An hour and more, she thought, while the grey dawn yielded to
the roseate hue of morning. Somehow, she no longer suffered either
terror or foreboding. A subtle atmosphere of strength and of security
seemed to encompass her. At one time she felt as if she were driven
along in a car that jolted horribly, and when she moved her face and
hands they came in contact with things that were fresh and green and
smelt of the country. She was in darkness then, and more than three
parts unconscious, but the handkerchief had been removed from her mouth.
It seemed to her as if she could hear the voice of her Jack, but far
away and indistinct; also the tramp of horses' hoofs and the creaking of
cart-wheels, and at times that awful, rasping cough, which reminded her
of the presence of a loathsome wretch, who should not have had a part in
her soothing dream.
Thus many hours must have gone by.
Then, all at once, she was inside a house--a room, and she felt that she
was being lowered very gently to the ground. She was on her feet, but
she could not see where she was. There was furniture; a carpet; a
ceiling; the man Rateau with the sabots and the dirty coat, and the
merry English voice, and a pair of deep-set blue eyes, thoughtful and
lazy and infinitely kind.
But before she could properly focus what she saw, everything began to
whirl and to spin around her, to dance a wild and idiotic saraband,
which caused her to laugh, and to laugh, until her throat felt choked
and her eyes hot; after which she remembered nothing more.