THE ASCENT OF GOLGOTHA
Twenty or thirty minutes elapsed. Veronique was still alone. The cords
cut into her flesh; and the rails of the balcony bruised her forehead.
The gag choked her. Her knees, bent in two and doubled up beneath her,
carried the whole weight of her body. It was an intolerable position, an
unceasing torture . . . . Still, though she suffered, she was not very
clearly aware of it. She was unconscious of her physical suffering; and
she had already undergone such mental suffering that this supreme ordeal
did not awaken her drowsing senses.
She hardly thought. Sometimes she said to herself that she was about to
die; and she already felt the repose of the after-life, as one
sometimes, amidst a storm, feels in advance the wide peace of the
harbour. Hideous things were sure to happen between the present moment
and the conclusion which would set her free; but her brain refused to
dwell on them; and her son's fate in particular elicited only momentary
thoughts, which were immediately dispersed.
At heart, as there was nothing to enlighten her as to her frame of mind,
she was hoping for a miracle. Would the miracle occur in Vorski?
Incapable of generosity though he was, would not the monster hesitate
none the less in the presence of an utterly unnecessary crime? A father
does not kill his son, or at least the act must be brought about by
imperative reasons; and Vorski had no such reasons to allege against a
mere child whom he did not know and whom he could not hate except with
an artificial hatred.
Her torpor was lulled by this hope of a miracle. All the sounds which
reechoed through the house, sounds of discussions, sounds of hurrying
footsteps, seemed to her to indicate not so much the preparations for
the events foretold as the sign of interruptions which would ruin all
Vorski's plans. Had not her dear Francois said that nothing could any
longer separate them from each other and that, at the moment when
everything might seem lost and even when everything would be really
lost, they must keep their faith intact?
"My Francois," she repeated, "my darling Francois, you shall not die
. . . we shall see each other again . . . you promised me!"
Out of doors, a blue sky, flecked with a few menacing clouds, hung
outspread above the tall oaks. In front of her, beyond that same window
at which her father had appeared to her, in the middle of the grass
which she had crossed with Honorine on the day of her arrival, a site
had been recently cleared and covered with sand, like an arena. Was it
here that her son was to fight? She received the sudden intuition that
it must be; and her heart contracted.
"Francois," she said, "Francois, have no fear . . . . I shall save you
. . . . Oh, forgive me, Francois darling, forgive me! . . . All this is
a punishment for the wrong I once did . . . . It is the atonement
. . . . The son is atoning for the mother . . . . Forgive me, forgive
me! . . ."
At that moment a door opened on the ground-floor and voices ascended
from the doorstep. She recognized Vorski's voice among them.
"So it's understood," he said. "We shall each go our own way; you two on
the left, I on the right. You'll take this kid with you, I'll take the
other and we'll meet in the lists. You'll be the seconds, so to speak,
of yours and I'll be the second of mine, so that all the rules will be
observed."
Veronique shut her eyes, for she did not wish to see her son, who would
no doubt be maltreated, led out to fight like a slave. She could hear
the creaking of two sets of footsteps following the two circular paths.
Vorski was laughing and speechifying.
The groups turned and advanced in opposite directions.
"Don't come any nearer," Vorski ordered. "Let the two adversaries take
their places. Halt, both of you. Good. And not a word, do you hear? If
either of you speaks, I shall cut him down without mercy. Are you ready?
Begin!"
So the terrible thing was commencing. In accordance with Vorski's will,
the duel was about to take place before the mother, the son was about to
fight before her face. How could she do other than look? She opened her
eyes.
She at once saw the two come to grips and hold each other off. But she
did not at once understand what she saw, or at least she failed to
understand its exact meaning. She saw the two boys, it was true; but
which of them was Francois and which was Raynold?
"Oh," she stammered, "it's horrible! . . . And yet . . . no, I must be
mistaken . . . . It's not possible . . ."
She was not mistaken. The two boys were dressed alike, in the same
velvet knickerbockers, the same white-flannel shirts, the same leather
belts. But each had his head wrapped in a red-silk scarf, with two holes
for the eyes, as in a highwayman's mask.
Which was Francois? Which was Raynold?
Now she remembered Vorski's inexplicable threat. This was what he meant
by the programme drawn up by himself, this was to what he alluded when
he spoke of a little play of his composing. Not only was the son
fighting before the mother, but she did not know which was her son.
It was an infernal refinement of cruelty; Vorski himself had said so. No
agony could add to Veronique's agony.
The miracle which she had hoped for lay chiefly in herself and in the
love which she bore her son. Because her son was fighting before her
eyes, she felt certain that her son could not die. She would protect him
against the blows and against the ruses of the foe. She would make the
dagger swerve, she would ward off death from the head which she adored.
She would inspire her boy with dauntless energy, with the will to
attack, with indefatigable strength, with the spirit that foretells and
seizes the propitious moment. But now that both of them were veiled, on
which was she to exercise her good influence, for which to pray, against
which to rebel?
She knew nothing. There was no clue to enlighten her. One of them was
taller, slimmer and lither in his movements. Was this Francois? The
other was more thick-set, stronger and stouter in appearance. Was this
Raynold? She could not tell. Nothing but a glimpse of a face, or even a
fleeting expression, could have revealed the truth to her. But how was
she to pierce the impenetrable mask?
And the fight continued, more terrible for her than if she had seen her
son with his face uncovered.
"Bravo!" cried Vorski, applauding an attack.
He seemed to be following the duel like a connoisseur, with the
affectation of impartiality displayed by a good judge of fighting who
above all things wants the best man to win. And yet it was one of his
sons that he had condemned to death.
Facing her stood the two accomplices, both of them men with brutal
faces, pointed skulls and big noses with spectacles. One of them was
extremely thin; the other was also thin, but with a swollen paunch like
a leather bottle. These two did not applaud and remained indifferent, or
perhaps even hostile, to the sight before them.
"Capital!" cried Vorski, approvingly. "Well parried! Oh, you're a couple
of sturdy fellows and I'm wondering to whom to award the palm."
He pranced around the adversaries, urging them on in a hoarse voice in
which Veronique, remembering certain scenes in the past, seemed to
recognize the effects of drink. Nevertheless the poor thing made an
effort to stretch out her bound hands towards him; and she moaned under
her gag:
"Mercy! Mercy! I can't bear it. Have pity!"
It was impossible for her martyrdom to last. Her heart was beating so
violently that it shook her from head to foot; and she was on the point
of fainting when an incident occurred that gave her fresh life. One of
the boys, after a fairly stubborn tussle, had jumped back and was
swiftly bandaging his right wrist, from which a few drops of blood were
trickling. Veronique seemed to remember seeing in her son's hand the
small blue-and-white handkerchief which the boy was using.
She was immediately and irresistibly convinced. The boy--it was the more
slender and agile of the two--had more grace than the other, more
distinction, greater elegance of movement.
"It's Francois," she murmured. "Yes, yes, it's he . . . . It's you,
isn't it, my darling? I recognize you now . . . . The other is common
and heavy . . . . It's you, my darling! . . . Oh, my Francois, my
dearest Francois!"
In fact, though both were fighting with equal fierceness, this one
displayed less savage fury and blind rage in his efforts. It was as
though he were trying not so much to kill his adversary as to wound him
and as though his attacks were directed rather to preserving himself
from the death that lay in wait for him. Veronique felt alarmed and
stammered, as though he could hear her:
"Don't spare him, my darling! He's a monster, too! . . . Oh, dear, if
you're generous, you're lost! . . . Francois, Francois, mind what you're
doing!"
The blade of the dagger had flashed over the head of the one whom she
called her son; and she had cried out, under her gag, to warn him.
Francois having avoided the blow, she felt persuaded that her cry had
reached his ears; and she continued instinctively to put him on his
guard and advise him:
"Take a rest . . . . Get your breath . . . . Whatever you do, keep your
eyes on him . . . . He's getting ready to do something . . . . He's
going to rush at you . . . . Here he comes! Oh, my darling, another inch
and he would have stabbed you in the neck! . . . Be careful, darling,
he's treacherous . . . there's no trick too mean for him to play
. . . ."
But the unhappy mother felt, however reluctant she might yet be to admit
it, that the one whom she called her son was beginning to lose strength.
Certain signs proclaimed a reduced power of resistance, while the other,
on the contrary, was gaining in eagerness and vigour. Francois retreated
until he reached the edge of the arena.
"Hi, you, boy!" grinned Vorski. "You're not thinking of running away,
are you? Keep your nerve, damn it! Show some pluck! Remember the
conditions!"
The boy rushed forward with renewed zest; and it was the other's turn to
fall back. Vorski clapped his hands, while Veronique murmured:
"It's for me that he's risking his life. The monster must have told him,
'Your mother's fate depends on you. If you win, she's saved.' And he has
sworn to win. He knows that I am watching him. He guesses that I am
here. He hears me. Bless you, my darling!"
It was the last phase of the duel. Veronique trembled all over,
exhausted by her emotion and by the too violent alternation of hope and
anguish. Once again her son lost ground and once again he leapt
forward. But, in the final struggle that followed, he lost his balance
and fell on his back, with his right arm caught under his body.
His adversary at once stooped, pressed his knee on the other's chest and
raised his arm. The dagger gleamed in the air.
"Help! Help!" Veronique gasped, choking under her gag.
She flattened her breast against the wall, without thinking of the cords
which tortured her. Her forehead was bleeding, cut by the sharp corner
of the rail, and she felt that she was about to die of the death of her
son. Vorski had approached and stood without moving, with a merciless
look on his face.
Twenty seconds, thirty seconds passed. With his outstretched left hand,
Francois checked his adversary's attempt. But the victorious arm sank
lower and lower, the dagger descended, the point was only an inch or two
from the neck.
Vorski stooped. Just then, he was behind Raynold, so that neither
Raynold nor Francois could see him; and he was watching most
attentively, as though intending to intervene at some given moment. But
in whose favor would he intervene? Was it his plan to save Francois?
Veronique no longer breathed; her eyes were enormously dilated; she hung
between life and death.
The point of the dagger touched the neck and must have pricked the
flesh, but only very slightly, for it was still held back by Francois'
resistance.
Vorski bent lower. He stood over the fighters and did not take his eyes
from the deadly point. Suddenly he took a pen-knife from his pocket,
opened it and waited. A few more seconds elapsed. The dagger continued
to descend. Then quickly he gashed Raynold's shoulder with the blade of
his knife.
The boy uttered a cry of pain. His grip at once became relaxed; and, at
the same time, Francois, set free, his right arm released, half rose,
resumed the offensive and, without seeing Vorski or understanding what
had happened, in an instinctive impulse of his whole being escaped from
death and revolting against his adversary, struck him full in the face.
Raynold in his turn fell like a log.
All this had certainly lasted no longer than ten seconds. But the
incident was so unexpected and took Veronique so greatly aback that, not
realizing, not knowing that she ought to rejoice, believing rather that
she was mistaken and that the real Francois was dead, murdered by
Vorski, the poor thing sank into a huddled heap and lost consciousness.
* * * * *
A long, long time elapsed. Then, gradually, Veronique became aware of
certain sensations. She heard the clock strike four; and she said:
"It's two hours since Francois died. For it was he who died."
She had not a doubt that the duel had ended in this way. Vorski would
never have allowed Francois to be the victor and his other son to be
killed. And so it was against her own child that she had sent up wishes
and for the monster that she had prayed!
"Francois is dead," she repeated. "Vorski has killed him."
The door opened and she heard Vorski's voice. He entered, with an
unsteady gait:
"A thousand pardons, dear lady, but I think Vorski must have fallen
asleep. It's your father's fault, Veronique! He had hidden away in his
cellar some confounded Saumur which Conrad and Otto discovered and which
has fuddled me a bit! But don't cry; we shall make up for lost time
. . . . Besides everything must be settled by midnight. So . . ."
He had come nearer; and he now exclaimed:
"What! Did that rascal of a Vorski leave you tied up? What a brute that
Vorski is! And how uncomfortable you must be! . . . Hang it all, how
pale you are! I say, look here, you're not dead, are you? That would be
a nasty trick to play us!"
He took Veronique's hand, which she promptly snatched away.
"Capital! We still loathe our little Vorski! Then that's all right and
there's plenty of reserve strength. You'll hold out to the end,
Veronique."
He listened:
"What is it? Who's calling me? Is it you, Otto? Come up . . . . Well,
Otto, what news? I've been asleep, you know. That damned Saumur wine!
. . ."
Otto, one of the two accomplices, entered the room at a run. He was the
one whose paunch bulged so oddly.
"What news?" he exclaimed. "Why, this: I've seen some one on the
island!"
Vorski began to laugh:
"You're drunk, Otto. That damned Saumur wine . . ."
"I'm not drunk. I saw . . . and so did Conrad . . ."
"Oho," said Vorski, more seriously, "if Conrad was with you! Well, what
did you see?"
"A white figure, which hid when we came along."
"Where?"
"Between the village and the heath, in a little wood of chestnut trees."
"On the other side of the island then?"
"Yes."
"All right. We'll take our precautions."
"How? There may be several of them."
"I don't care if there are ten of them; it would make no difference.
Where's Conrad?"
"By the foot-bridge which we put in the place of the bridge that was
burnt down. He's keeping watch from there."
"Conrad is a clever one. When the bridge was burnt, we were kept on the
other side; if the foot-bridge is burnt, it'll produce the same
hindrance. Veronique, I really believe they're coming to rescue you.
It's the miracle you expected, the assistance you hoped for. But it's
too late, my beauty."
He untied the bonds that fastened her to the balcony, carried her to the
sofa and loosened the gag slightly:
"Sleep, my wench," he said. "Get what rest you can. You're only half-way
to Golgotha yet; and the last bit of the ascent will be the hardest."
He went away jesting; and Veronique heard the two men exchange a few
sentences which proved to her that Otto and Conrad were only supers who
knew nothing of the business in hand:
"Who's this wretched woman whom you're persecuting?" asked Otto.
"That doesn't concern you."
"Still, Conrad and I would like to know something about it."
"Lord, why?"
"Oh, just because!"
"Conrad and you are a pair of fools," replied Vorski. "When I took you
into my service and helped you to escape with me, I told you all I could
of my plans. You accepted my conditions. It was your look-out. You've
got to see this thing through now."
"And if we don't?"
"If you don't, beware of the consequences. I don't like shirkers
. . . ."
More hours passed. Nothing, it seemed to Veronique, could any longer
save her from the end for which she craved with all her heart. She no
longer hoped for the intervention of which Otto had spoken. In reality
she was not thinking at all. Her son was dead; and she had no other wish
than to join him without delay, even at the cost of the most dreadful
suffering. What did that suffering matter to her? There are limits to
the strength of those who are tortured; and she was so near to reaching
those limits that her agony would not last long.
She began to pray. Once more the memory of the past forced itself on her
mind; and the fault which she had committed seemed to her the cause of
all the misfortunes heaped upon her.
And, while praying, exhausted, harassed, in a state of nervous
extenuation which left her indifferent to anything that might happen,
she fell asleep.
Vorski's return did not even rouse her. He had to shake her:
"The hour is at hand, my girl. Say your prayers."
He spoke low, so that his assistants might not hear what he said; and,
whispering in her ear, he told her things of long ago, insignificant
trifles which he dribbled out in a thick tone. At last he called out:
"It's still too light, Otto. Go and see what you can find in the larder,
will you? I'm hungry."
They sat down to table, but Vorski stood up again at once:
"Don't look at me, my girl. Your eyes worry me. What do you expect? My
conscience doesn't worry me when I'm alone, but it gets worked up when a
fine pair of eyes like yours go right through me. Lower your lids, my
pretty one."
He bound Veronique's eyes with a handkerchief which he knotted behind
her head. But this did not satisfy him; and he unhooked a muslin curtain
from the window, wrapped her whole head in it and wound it round her
neck. Then he sat down again to eat and drink.
The three of them hardly spoke and said not a word of their trip across
the island, nor of the duel of the afternoon. In any case, these were
details which did not interest Veronique and which, even if she had paid
attention to them, would not have aroused her. Everything had become
indifferent to her. The words reached her ears but assumed no definite
meaning. She thought of nothing but dying.
When it was dark, Vorski gave the signal for departure.
"Then you're still determined?" asked Otto, in a voice betraying a
certain hostility.
"More so than ever. What's your reason for asking?"
"Nothing . . . . But, all the same . . ."
"All the same what?"
"Well, I may as well out with it, we only half like the job."
"You don't mean to say so! And you only discover it now, my man, after
stringing up the sisters Archignat and treating it as a lark!"
"I was drunk that day. You made us drink."
"Well, get boozed if you want to, old cock. Here, take the
brandy-bottle. Fill your flask and shut up . . . . Conrad, is the
stretcher ready?"
He turned to his victim:
"A polite attention for you, my dear . . . . Two old stilts of your
brat's, fastened together with straps . . . . It's very practical and
comfortable."
At half-past eight, the grim procession set out, with Vorski at the
head, carrying a lantern. The accomplices followed with the litter.
The clouds which had been threatening all the afternoon had now gathered
and were rolling, thick and black, over the island. The night was
falling swiftly. A stormy wind was blowing and made the candle flicker
in the lantern.
"Brrrr!" muttered Vorski. "Dismal work! A regular Golgotha evening."
He swerved and grunted at the sight of a little black shape bounding
along by his side:
"What's that? Look. It's a dog, isn't it?"
"It's the boy's mongrel," said Otto.
"Oh, of course, the famous All's Well! The brute's come in the nick of
time. Everything's going jolly well! Just wait a bit, you mangy beast!"
He aimed a kick at the dog. All's Well avoided it and keeping out of
reach, continued to accompany the procession, giving a muffled bark at
intervals.
It was a rough ascent; and every moment one of the three men, leaving
the invisible path that skirted the grass in front of the house and led
to the open space by the Fairies' Dolmen, tripped in the brambles or in
the runners of ivy.
"Halt!" Vorski commanded. "Stop and take breath, my lads. Otto, hand us
your flask. My heart's turning upside down."
He took a long pull:
"Your turn, Otto . . . . What, don't you want to? What's the matter with
you?"
"I'm thinking that there are people on the island who are looking for
us."
"Let them look!"
"And suppose they come by boat and climb that path in the cliffs which
the woman and the boy were trying to escape by this morning, the path we
found?"
"What we have to fear is an attack by land, not by sea. Well, the
foot-bridge is burnt. There's no means of communication."
"Unless they find the entrance to the cells, on the Black Heath, and
follow the tunnel to this place."
"Have they found the entrance?"
"I don't know."
"Well, granting that they do find it, haven't we just blocked the exit
on this side, broken down the staircase, thrown everything topsy-turvy?
To clear it will take them half a day and more. Whereas at midnight the
thing'll be done and by daybreak we shall be far away from Sarek."
"It'll be done, it'll be done; that is to say, we shall have one more
murder on our conscience. But . . ."
"But what?"
"What about the treasure?"
"Ah, the treasure! You've got it out at last! Well, make your mind easy:
your shares of it are as good as in your pockets."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Rather! Do you imagine that I'm staying here and doing all this dirty
work for fun?"
They resumed their progress. After a quarter of an hour, a few drops of
rain began to fall. There was a clap of thunder. The storm still
appeared to be some distance away.
They had difficulty in completing the rough ascent: and Vorski had to
help his companions.
"At last!" he said. "We're there. Otto, hand me the flask. That's it.
Thanks."
They had laid their victim at the foot of the oak which had had its
lower branches removed. A flash of light revealed the inscription,
"V. d'H." Vorski picked up a rope, which had been left there in
readiness, and set a ladder against the trunk of the tree:
"We'll do as we did with the sisters Archignat," he said. "I'll pass the
cord over the big branch which we left intact. That will serve as a
pulley."
He interrupted himself and jumped to one side. Something extraordinary
had just happened.
"What's that?" he whispered. "What was it? Did you hear that whistling
sound?"
"Yes," said Conrad, "it grazed my ear. One would have said it was a
bullet."
"You're mad."
"I heard it too," said Otto, "and it seems to me that it hit the tree."
"What tree?"
"The oak, of course! It was as though somebody had fired at us."
"There was no report."
"A stone, then; a stone that must have hit the oak."
"We'll soon see," said Vorski.
He turned his lantern and at once let fly an oath:
"Damn it! Look, there, under the lettering."
They looked. An arrow was fixed at the spot to which he pointed. Its
feathered end was still quivering.
"An arrow!" gasped Conrad. "How is it possible? An arrow!"
And Otto spluttered:
"We're done for! It's us they were aiming at!"
"The man who took aim at us can't be far off," Vorski observed. "Keep
your eyes open. We'll have a look."
He swung the light in a circle which penetrated the surrounding
darkness.
"Stop," said Conrad, eagerly. "A little more to the right. Do you see?"
"Yes, yes, I see."
Thirty yards from where they stood, in the direction of the Calvary of
the Flowers, just beyond the blasted oak, they saw something white, a
figure which was trying, at least so it seemed, to hide behind a clump
of bushes.
"Not a word, not a movement," Vorski ordered. "Do nothing to let him
think that we've discovered him. Conrad, come with me. You, Otto, stay
here, with your revolver in your hand, and keep a good watch. If they
try to come near and to release her ladyship, fire two shots and we'll
run back at once. Is that understood?"
"Quite."
Vorski bent over Veronique and loosened the veil slightly. Her eyes and
mouth were still concealed by their bandages. She was breathing with
difficulty; the pulse was weak and slow.
"We have time," he muttered, "but we must hurry if we want her to die
according to plan. In any case she doesn't seem to be in pain. She has
lost all consciousness."
He put down the lantern and then softly, followed by his assistant,
stole towards the white figure, both of them choosing the places where
the shadow was densest.
But he soon became aware, on the one hand, that the figure, which had
seemed stationary, was moving as he himself moved forward, so that the
space between them remained the same, and, on the other hand, that it
was escorted by a small black figure frisking by its side.
"It's that filthy mongrel!" growled Vorski.
He quickened his pace: the distance did not decrease. He ran: the figure
in front of him ran likewise. And the strangest part of it was that they
heard no sound of leaves disturbed or of ground trampled by the
mysterious person running ahead of them.
"Damn it!" swore Vorski. "He's laughing at us. Suppose we fired at him,
Conrad?"
"He's too far. The bullets wouldn't reach him."
"All the same, we're not going to . . ."
The unknown individual led them to the end of the island and then down
to the entrance of the tunnel, passed close to the Priory, skirted the
west cliff and reached the foot-bridge, some of the planks of which were
still smouldering. Then he branched off, passed back by the other side
of the house and went up the grassy slope.
From time to time the dog barked gaily.
Vorski could not control his rage. However hard he tried, he was unable
to gain an inch of ground: and the pursuit had lasted fifteen minutes.
He ended by vituperating the enemy:
"Stop, can't you? Show yourself a man! . . . What are you trying to do?
Lead us into a trap? What for? . . . Is it her ladyship you're trying to
save? It's not worth while, in the state she's in. Oh, you damned, smart
bounder, if I could only get hold of you!"
Suddenly Conrad seized him by the skirt of his robe.
"What is it, Conrad?"
"Look. He seems to be stopping."
As Conrad suggested, the white figure for the first time was becoming
more and more clearly visible in the darkness and they were able to
distinguish, through the leaves of a thicket, its present attitude, with
the arms slightly opened, the back bowed, the legs bent and apparently
crossed on the ground.
"He must have fallen," said Conrad.
Vorski, after running forward, shouted:
"Am I to shoot, you scum? I've got the drop on you. Hands up, or I
fire."
Nothing stirred.
"It's your own look-out! If you show fight, you're a dead man. I shall
count three and fire."
He walked to twenty yards of the figure and counted, with outstretched
arm:
"One . . . two . . . . Are you ready, Conrad? Fire!"
The two bullets were discharged at the same time.
There was a cry of distress. The figure seemed to collapse. The two men
rushed forward:
"Ah, now you've got it, you rascal! I'll show you the stuff that
Vorski's made of! You've given me a pretty run, you oaf! Well, your
account's settled!"
After the first few steps, he slackened his speed, for fear of a
surprise. The figure did not move; and Vorski, on coming close, saw that
it had the limp and misshapen look of a dead man, of a corpse. Nothing
remained but to fall upon it. This was what Vorski did, laughing and
jesting:
"A good bag, Conrad! Let's pick up the game."
But he was greatly surprised, on picking up the game, to feel in his
hands nothing but an almost impalpable quarry, consisting, to tell the
truth, of just a white robe, with no one inside it, the owner of the
robe having taken flight in good time, after hooking it to the thorns of
a thicket. As for the dog, he had disappeared.
"Damn and blast it!" roared Vorski. "He's cheated us, the ruffian! But
why, hang it, why?"
Venting his rage in the stupid fashion that was his habit, he was
stamping on the piece of stuff, when a thought struck him:
"Why? Because, damn it, as I said just now, it's a trap: a trap to get
us away from her ladyship while his friends went for Otto! Oh, what an
ass I've been!"
He started to go back in the dark and, as soon as he was able to see the
dolmen, he called out:
"Otto! Otto!"
"Halt! Who goes there?" answered Otto, in a scared voice.
"It's me . . . . Damn you, don't fire!"
"Who's there? You?"
"Yes, yes, you fool."
"But the two shots?"
"Nothing . . . . A mistake . . . . We'll tell you about it . . . ."
He was now close to the oak and, at once, taking up the lantern, turned
its rays upon his victim. She had not moved and lay stretched at the
foot of the tree, with her head wrapped in the veil.
"Ah!" he said. "I breathe again! Hang it, how frightened I was!"
"Frightened of what?"
"Of their taking her from us, of course!"
"Well, wasn't I here?"
"Oh, you! You've got no more pluck than a louse . . . and, if they had
gone for you . . ."
"I should have fired, at any rate. You'd have heard the signal."
"May be. Well, did nothing happen?"
"Nothing at all."
"Her ladyship didn't carry on too much?"
"She did at first. She moaned and groaned under her hood, until I lost
all patience."
"And then?"
"Oh, then! It didn't last long: I stunned her with a good blow of my
fist."
"You brute!" exclaimed Vorski. "If you've killed her, you're a dead
man."
He plumped down and glued his ear to his unfortunate victim's breast.
"No," he said, presently, "her heart is still beating. But that may not
last long. To work, lads. It must all be over in ten minutes."