The Secret of Sarek Part 33

She stopped to think and then said, slowly:

"That's it . . . that's what happened . . . . Stephane and I were discovered below, on the floor underneath. The alarm was given at once.

The monster, Vorski's son, had gone up expressly to watch Francois. He found the cell empty and, seeing the opening which had been made, crawled out here. Yes, that's it . . . . If not, by what way did he come? . . . When he got here, it occurred to him to run to the window, knowing that it overlooked the sea and suspecting that Francois had chosen it to make his escape. He at once saw the hooks of the ladder.

Then, on leaning over, he saw me, knew who I was and called out to me . . . . And now . . . now he is on his way to the Priory, where he is bound to meet Francois . . . ."

Nevertheless Veronique did not stir. She had an instinct that the danger lay not at the Priory but here, by the cells. And she wondered whether Francois had really succeeded in escaping and whether, before his task was done, he had not been surprised by the other and attacked by him.

It was a horrible doubt! She stooped quickly and, perceiving that the hole had been widened, tried to pa.s.s through it herself. But the outlet, at most large enough for a child, was too narrow for her; and her shoulders became fixed. She persisted in the attempt, however, tearing her bodice and bruising her skin against the rock, and at last, by dint of patience and wriggling, succeeded in slipping through.

The cell was empty. But the door was open on the pa.s.sages facing her; and Veronique had an impression--merely an impression, for the window admitted only a faint light--that some one was just leaving the cell through the open door. And from this confused impression of something that she had not absolutely seen she retained the certainty that it was a woman who was hiding there, in the pa.s.sage, a woman surprised by her unexpected entrance.

"It's their accomplice," thought Veronique. "She came up with the boy who killed Stephane, and she has no doubt taken Francois away . . . .

Perhaps Francois is even there still, quite near me, while she's watching me . . . ."

Meanwhile Veronique's eyes were growing accustomed to the semidarkness and she distinctly saw a woman's hand upon the door, which opened inwardly. The hand was slowly pulling.

"Why doesn't she shut it at once," Veronique wondered, "since she obviously wants to put a barrier between us?"

Veronique received her answer when she heard a pebble grating under the door and interfering with its movement. If the pebble were not there, the door would be closed. Without hesitating, Veronique went up, took hold of a great iron handle and pulled it towards her. The hand disappeared, but the opposition continued. There was evidently a handle on the other side as well.

Suddenly she heard a whistle. The woman was summoning a.s.sistance. And almost at the same time, in the pa.s.sage, at some distance from the woman, there was a cry:

"Mother! Mother!"

Ah, with what deep emotion Veronique heard that cry! Her son, her real son was calling to her, her son, still a captive but alive! Oh, the superhuman delight of it!

"I'm here, darling!"

"Quick, mother! I'm tied up; and the whistle is their signal . . .

they'll be coming."

"I'm here . . . . I shall save you before they come!"

She had no doubt of the result. It seemed to her as though her strength knew no limits and as though nothing could resist the exasperated tension of her whole being.

Her adversary was in fact weakening and giving ground by inches. The opening became wider; and suddenly the contest was over. Veronique walked through.

The woman had already fled down the pa.s.sage and was dragging the boy by a rope in order to make him walk despite the cords with which he was bound. It was a vain attempt and she abandoned it forthwith. Veronique was close to her, with her revolver in her hand.

The woman let go the boy and stood up in the light from the open cells.

She was dressed in white serge, with a knotted girdle round her waist.

Her arms were half bare. Her face was still young, but faded, thin and wrinkled. Her hair was fair, interspersed with strands of white. Her eyes gleamed with a feverish hatred.

The two women looked at each other without a word, like two adversaries who have met before and are about to fight again. Veronique almost smiled, with a smile of mingled triumph and defiance. In the end she said:

"If you dare to lay a finger on my child, I'll kill you. Go! Be off!"

The woman was not frightened. She seemed to be reflecting and to be listening in the expectation of a.s.sistance. None come. Then she lowered her eyes to Francois and made a movement as though to seize upon her prey again.

"Don't touch him!" Veronique exclaimed, violently. "Don't touch him, or I fire!"

The woman shrugged her shoulders and said, in measured accents:

"No threats, please! If I had wanted to kill that child of yours, I should have done so by now. But his hour has not come; and it is not by my hand that he is to die."

Veronique, trembling all over, could not help asking:

"By whose hand is he to die?"

"By my son's: you know . . . the one you've seen."

"Is he your son, the murderer, the monster?"

"He's the son of . . ."

"Silence! Silence!" Veronique commanded. She understood that the woman had been Vorski's mistress and feared that she would make some disclosure in Francois' presence. "Silence: that name is not to be spoken."

"It will be when it has to be," said the woman. "Ah, I've suffered enough through you, Veronique: it's your turn now; and you're only at the beginning of it!"

"Go!" cried Veronique, pointing her revolver.

"Once more, no threats, please."

"Go, or I fire! I swear it on the head of my son."

The woman retreated, betraying a certain anxiety in spite of herself.

But she was seized with a fresh access of rage. Impotently she raised her clenched fists and shouted, in a raucous, broken voice:

"I will be revenged . . . You shall see. Veronique . . . . The cross--do you understand?--the cross is ready . . . . You are the fourth . . . .

What, oh, what a revenge!"

She shook her gnarled, bony fists. And she continued:

"Oh, how I hate you! Fifteen years of hatred! But the cross will avenge me . . . . I shall string you up on it myself . . . . The cross is ready . . . you'll see . . . the cross is ready for you! . . ."

She walked away slowly, holding herself erect under the threat of the revolver.

"Don't kill her, mother, will you?" whispered Francois, suspecting the contest in his mother's mind.

Veronique seemed to wake from a dream:

"No, no," she replied, "don't be afraid . . . . And yet perhaps I ought to . . ."

"Oh, please let her be, mother, and let us go away."

She lifted him in her arms, even before the woman was out of sight, pressed him to her and carried him to the cell as though he weighed no more than a little child.

"Mother, mother," he said.