"Hark!" she whispered. "Some one comes!"
She looked towards the door near the head of the bed, the door that was
slightly ajar. She looked aghast, as one does at the apprehension of a
great and imminent danger. "Go while there is time! Do you not hear? It
is the voice of La Chatre! I recognize it! And the other,--his secretary,
Montignac! Go, go, I pray you on my knees, flee while there is yet time!"
She did indeed fall to her knees, clutching my arm with one hand, and
with the other trying to push me from the room, all the while showing a
very anguish of solicitude on her white face. Her eyes plead with me for
my own deliverance. The voices, which I too recognized, came nearer and
nearer, but slowly, as if the speakers were impeded in their progress
through the adjoining chamber. "Save yourself, save yourself!" she
continued to whisper.
"Come what may," I whispered in reply, my hand tightening on my sword, "I
will not leave you!"
"Then," she whispered, rapidly, seeing that I was not to be moved, "if
you will court death, at least know me first as I am,--no better, no
worse! Hide somewhere,--there behind the bed-curtains,--and hear what I
shall say to La Chatre! After that, if death find you, he shall find me
with you! I implore you, conceal yourself."
There was no pretence now, I was sure. Mystified, yet not doubting, I
whispered: "I yield, mademoiselle! God knows I would believe you
innocent!" and went behind the curtains, at the foot of the bed.
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