[2]SeeThe Golden Triangle, by Maurice Leblanc.
[2]SeeThe Golden Triangle, by Maurice Leblanc.
"Well?" said Véronique, eager to know more.
"As I said, M. d'Hergemont did not tell us theend of the letter. He read it in front of us, saying, with an air of amazement, 'Can that be it? . . . Why, of course, of course it is . . . . How wonderful!' And, when we asked him, he said, 'I'll tell you all about it this evening, when you come back from the Black Heath. Meanwhile you may like to know that this most extraordinary man—it's the only word for him—discloses to me, without more ado or further particulars, the secret of the God-Stone and the exact spot where it is to be found. And he does it so logically as to leave no room for doubt.'"
"And in the evening?"
"In the evening, François and I were carried off and M. d'Hergemont was murdered."
Véronique paused to think:
"I should not be surprised," she said, "if they wanted to steal that important letter from him. For, after all, the theft of the God-Stone seems to me the only motive that can explain all the machinations of which we are the victims."
"I think so too: but M. d'Hergemont, on Don Luis Perenna's recommendation, tore up the letter before our eyes."
"So, after all, Don Luis Perenna has not been informed?"
"No."
"Yet François . . ."
"François does not know of his grandfather's death and does not suspect that M. d'Hergemont never heard of our disappearance and therefore never sent a message to Don Luis Perenna. If he had done so, Don Luis, to François' mind, must beon his way. Besides, François has another reason for expecting something . . . ."
"A serious reason?"
"No. François is still very much of a child. He has read a lot of books of adventure, which have worked upon his imagination. Now Captain Belval told him such fantastic stories about his friend Perenna and painted Perenna in such strange colours that François firmly believes Perenna to be none other than Arsène Lupin. Hence his absolute confidence and his certainty that, in case of danger, the miraculous intervention will take place at the very minute when it becomes necessary."
Véronique could not help smiling:
"He is a child, of course; but children sometimes have intuitions which we have to take into account. Besides, it keeps up his courage and his spirits. How could he have endured this ordeal, at his age, if he had not had that hope?"
Her anguish returned. In a very low voice, she said:
"No matter where the rescue comes from, so long as it comes in time and so long as my son is not the victim of those dreadful creatures!"
They were silent for a long time. The enemy, present, though invisible, oppressed them with his formidable weight. He was everywhere; he was master of the island, master of the subterranean dwellings, master of the heaths and woods, master of the sea around them, master of the dolmens and the coffins. He linked together the monstrous ages of the past and the no less monstrous hours of the present. He was continuing history according tothe ancient rites and striking blows which had been foretold a thousand times.
"But why? With what object? What does it all mean?" asked Véronique, in a disheartened tone. "What connection can there be between the people of to-day and those of long ago? What is the explanation of the work resumed by such barbarous methods?"
And, after a further pause, she said, for in her heart of hearts, behind every question and reply and every insoluble problem, the obsession never ceased to torment her:
"Ah, if François were here! If we were all three fighting together! What has happened to him? What keeps him in his cell? Some obstacle which he did not foresee?"
It was Stéphane's turn to comfort her:
"An obstacle? Why should you suppose so? There is no obstacle. But it's a long job . . . ."
"Yes, yes, you are right; a long, difficult job. Oh, I'm sure that he won't lose heart! He has such high spirits! And such confidence! 'A mother and son who have been brought together cannot be parted again,' he said. 'They may still persecute us, but separate us, never! We shall win in the end.' He was speaking truly, wasn't he, Stéphane? I've not found my son again, have I, only to lose him? No, no, it would be too unjust and it would be impossible . . ."
Stéphane looked at her, surprised to hear her interrupt herself. Véronique was listening to something.
"What is it?" asked Stéphane.
"I hear sounds," she said.
He also listened:
"Yes, yes, you're right."
"Perhaps it's François," she said. "Perhaps it's up there."
She moved to rise. He held her back:
"No, it's the sound of footsteps in the passage."
"In that case . . . in that case . . . ?" said Véronique.
They exchanged distraught glances, forming no decision, not knowing what to do.
The sound came nearer. The enemy could not be suspecting anything, for the steps were those of one who is not afraid of being heard.
Stéphane said, slowly:
"They must not see me standing up. I will go back to my place. You must fasten me again as best you can."
They remained hesitating, as though cherishing the absurd hope that the danger would pass of its own accord. Then, suddenly, releasing herself from the sort of stupor that seemed to paralyse her, Véronique made up her mind:
"Quick! . . . Here they come! . . . Lie down!"
He obeyed. In a few seconds, she had replaced the cords on and around him as she had found them, but without tying them.
"Turn your face to the rock," she said. "Hide your hands. Your hands might betray you."
"And you?"
"I shall be all right."
She stooped and stretched herself at full lengthagainst the door, in which the spy-hole, barred with strips of iron, projected inwardly in such a way as to hide her from sight.
At the same moment, the enemy stopped outside. Notwithstanding the thickness of the door, Véronique heard the rustle of a dress.
And, above her, some one looked in.
It was a terrible moment. The least indication would give the alarm.
"Oh, why does she stay?" thought Véronique. "Is there anything to betray my presence? My clothes? . . ."
She thought that it was more likely Stéphane, whose attitude did not appear natural and whose bonds did not wear their usual aspect.
Suddenly there was a movement outside, followed by a whistle and a second whistle.
Then from the far end of the passage came another sound of steps, which increased in the solemn silence and stopped, like the first, behind the door. Words were spoken. Those outside seemed to be concerting measures.
Véronique managed to reach her pocket. She took out her revolver and put her finger on the trigger. If any one entered, she would stand up and fire shot after shot, without hesitating. Would not the least hesitation have meant François' death?
Véronique's estimate was correct, provided that the door opened outwards and that her enemies were at once revealed to view. She therefore examined the door and suddenly observed that, against all logical expectation, it had a large strong bolt at the bottom. Should she make use of it?
She had no time to weigh the advantages or drawbacks of this plan. She had heard a jingle of keys and, almost at the same time, the sound of a key grating in the lock.
Véronique received a very clear vision of what was likely to happen. When the assailants burst in, she would be thrust aside, she would be hampered in her movements, her aim would be inaccurate and her shots would miss, whereupontheywould shut the door again and promptly hurry off to François' cell. The thought of it made her lose her head; and her action was instinctive and immediate. First, she pushed the bolt at the foot of the door. Next, half rising, she slammed the iron shutter over the wicket. A latch clicked. It was no longer possible either to enter or to look in.
Then at once she realized the absurdity of her action, which had not opposed any obstacle to the menace of the enemy. Stéphane, leaping to her side, said:
"Good heavens, what have you done? Why, they saw that I was not moving and they now know that I am not alone!"
"Exactly," she answered, striving to defend herself. "They will try to break down the door, which will give us the time we want."
"The time we want for what?"
"To make our escape."
"Which way?"
"François will call out to us. François will . . ."
She did not complete her sentence. They now heard the sound of footsteps moving swiftly down the passage. There was no doubt about it; the enemy, without troubling about Stéphane, whose flight appeared impossible, was making for the upper floor of cells. Moreover, might he not suppose that the two friends were acting in agreement and that it was the boy who was in Stéphane's cell and who had barred the door?
Véronique therefore had precipitated events and given them a turn which she had so many reasons to dread; and François, up above, would be caught at the very moment when he was preparing to escape.
She was utterly overwhelmed:
"Why did I come here?" she muttered. "It would have been so simple to wait! The two of us would have saved you to a certainty."
One idea flashed through the confusion of her mind: had she not sought to hasten Stéphane's release because of what she knew of this man's love for her? And was it not an unworthy curiosity that had prompted her to make the attempt? A horrible idea, which she at once rejected, saying:
"No, I had to come. It is fate which is persecuting us."
"Don't believe it," said Stéphane. "Everything will come right."
"Too late!" said she, shaking her head.
"Why? How do we know that François has not left his cell? You yourself thought so just now . . . ."
She did not reply. Her face became drawn and very pale. By virtue of her sufferings she had acquired a kind of intuition of the evil that threatened her. This evil now surrounded her on every hand. A second series of ordeals was before her, more terrible than the first.
"There's death all about us," she said.
He tried to smile:
"You are talking like the people of Sarek. You have the same fears . . ."
"They were right to be afraid. And you yourself feel the horror of it all."
She rushed to the door, drew the bolt, tried to open it; but what could she do against that massive, iron-clad door?
Stéphane seized her by the arm:
"One moment . . . . Listen . . . . It sounds as if . . ."
"Yes," she said, "it's up there that they are knocking . . . above our heads . . . in François' cell . . . ."
"Not at all, not at all: listen . . . ."
There was a long silence; and then blows were heard in the thickness of the cliff. The sound came from below them.
"The same blows that I heard this morning,"said Stéphane, in dismay. "The same attempt of which I spoke to you . . . . Ah, I understand! . . ."
"What? What do you mean?"
The blows were repeated, at regular intervals, and then ceased, to be followed by a dull, continuous sound, pierced by shriller creakings and sudden cracks, like the straining of machinery newly started, or of one of those capstans which are used for hoisting boats up a beach.
Véronique listened, desperately expectant of what was coming, trying to guess, seeking to find some clue in Stéphane's eyes. He stood in front of her, looking at her as a man, in the hour of danger, looks at the woman he loves.
And suddenly she staggered and had to press her hand against the wall. It was as though the cave and indeed the whole cliff were bodily moving from its place.
"Oh," she murmured, "is it I who am trembling like this? Is it from fear that I am shaking from head to foot?"
Seizing Stéphane's hands, she said:
"Tell me! I want to know! . . ."
He did not answer. There was no fear in his eyes bedewed with tears, there was nothing but immense love and unbounded despair. He was thinking only of her.
Besides, was it necessary for him to explain what was happening? Did not the reality itself become more and more apparent as the seconds passed? A strange reality indeed, having no connection with commonplace facts, a reality quite beyond anything that the imagination might invent in the domain ofevil, a strange reality which Véronique, who was beginning to grasp its indication, still refused to believe.
Acting like a trap-door, but like a trap-door working the reverse way, the square of enormous joists which was set in the middle of the cave rose, pivoting on the fixed axis by which it was hinged parallel with the cliff. The almost imperceptible movement was that of an enormous lid opening; and the thing already formed a sort of spring-board reaching from the edge to the back of the cave, a spring-board with as yet a very slight slope, on which it was easy enough to keep one's balance.
At the first moment, Véronique thought that the enemy's object was to crush them between the implacable floor and the granite of the ceiling. But, almost immediately afterwards, she understood that the hateful mechanism, by standing erect like a draw-bridge when hoisted up, was intended to hurl them over the precipice. And it would carry out that intention inexorably. The result was fatal and inevitable. Whatever they might try, whatever efforts they might make to hold on, a minute would come when the floor of that draw-bridge would be absolutely vertical, forming an integral part of the perpendicular cliff.
"It's horrible, it's horrible," she muttered.
Their hands were still clasped. Stéphane was weeping silent tears.
Presently she moaned:
"There's nothing to be done, is there?"
"Nothing," he replied.
"Still, there is room beyond that wooden floor. The cave is round. We might .. ."
"The space is too small. If we tried to stand between the sides of the square and the wall, we should be crushed to death. That has all been planned. I have often thought about it."
"Then . . . ?"
"We must wait."
"For what? For whom?"
"For François."
"Oh, François!" she said, with a sob. "Perhaps he too is doomed . . . . Or perhaps he is looking for us and will fall into some trap. In any case, I shall not see him . . . . And he will know nothing . . . . And he will not even have seen his mother before dying . . . ."
She pressed Stéphane's hands and said:
"Stéphane, if one of us escapes death—and I hope it may be you . . ."
"It will be you," he said, in a tone of conviction. "I am even surprised that the enemy should condemn you to the same torture as myself. But no doubt he doesn't know that it's you who are here with me."
"It surprises me too!" said Véronique. "A different torture is set aside for me. But what does it matter, if I am not to see my son again! . . . Stéphane, I can safely leave him in your charge, can't I? I know all that you have already done for him."
The floor continued to rise very slowly, with an uneven vibration and sudden jerks. The slope became more accentuated. A few minutes more and they would no longer be able to speak freely and quietly.
Stéphane replied:
"If I survive, I swear to fulfil my task to the end. I swear it in memory . . ."
"In memory of me," she said, in a firm voice, "in memory of the Véronique whom you knew . . . and loved."
He looked at her passionately:
"So you know?"
"Yes; and I tell you frankly, I have read your diary. I know your love for me . . . and I accept it." She gave a sad smile. "That poor love which you offered to the woman who was absent . . . and which you are now offering to the woman who is about to die."
"No, no," he said, eagerly, "don't believe that . . . . Salvation may be near at hand . . . . I feel it. My love does not belong to the past but to the future."
He stooped to put his lips to her hands.
"Kiss me," she said, offering him her forehead.
Each of them had been obliged to place one foot on the brink of the precipice, on the straight edge of granite which ran parallel with the fourth side of the spring-board.
They kissed gravely.
"Hold me firmly," said Véronique.
She leant back as far as she could, raising her head, and called in a muffled voice:
"François . . . . François . . . ."
But there was no one at the upper opening, from which the ladder was still hanging by one of its hooks, well out of reach.
Véronique bent over the sea. At this spot, the swell of the cliff did not project as much as elsewhere; and she saw, in between the foam-toppedreefs, a little pool of still water, very calm and so deep that she could not see the bottom. She thought that death would be gentler there than on the sharp-pointed rocks and, yielding to a sudden longing to have done with it all and to avoid a lingering agony, she said to Stéphane:
"Why wait for the end? Better die than suffer this torture."
"No, no!" he exclaimed, horrified at the thought that Véronique might disappear from his sight.
"Then you are still hoping?"
"Until the last second, since it's your life that's at stake."
"I have no longer any hope."
Nor was he borne up by hope; but he would have given anything to lull Véronique's sufferings and to bear the whole weight of the supreme ordeal himself.
The floor continued to rise. The vibration had ceased and the slope became much more marked, already reaching the bottom of the wicket, half way up the door. Then there was a sound like a sudden stoppage of machinery, followed by a violent jolt, and the whole wicket was covered. It was becoming impossible for them to stand erect.
They lay down on the slanting floor, bracing their feet against the granite edge.
Two more jerks occurred, each time pushing the upper end still higher. The top of the inner wall was reached; and the enormous mechanism moved slowly forward, along the ceiling, towards the opening of the cave. They could see very plainly that it would fit this opening exactly and close it hermetically, like a draw-bridge. The rock had been hewnin such a way that the deadly task might be accomplished without leaving any loophole for chance.
They did not utter a word. With hands tight-clasped, they resigned themselves to the inevitable. Their death was assuming the aspect of an event decreed by destiny. The machine had been constructed far back in the centuries and had no doubt been reconstructed, repaired and put in order at a more recent date; and during those centuries, worked by invisible executioners, it had caused the death of culprits, of guilty men and innocent, of men of Armorica, Gaul, France or foreign lands. Prisoners of war, sacrilegious monks, persecuted peasants, renegade Chouans and soldiers of the Revolution; one by one the monster had hurled them over the cliff.
To-day it was their turn.
They had not even the bitter solace of rage and hatred. Whom were they to hate? They were dying in the deepest obscurity, with no hostile face emerging from that implacable night. They were dying in the accomplishment of a task unknown to themselves, to make up a total, so to speak, and for the fulfilment of absurd prophecies, of imbecile intentions, such as the orders given by the barbarian gods and formulated by fanatical priests. They were—it was a thing unheard of—the victims of some expiatory sacrifice, of some holocaust offered to the divinities of a blood-thirsty creed!
The wall stood behind them. In a few more minutes it would be perpendicular. The end was approaching.
Time after time Stéphane had to hold Véroniqueback. An increasing terror distracted her mind. She yearned to fling herself down.
"Please, please," she stammered, "do let me . . . . I am suffering more than I can bear."
Had she not found her son again, she would have retained her self-control to the end. But the thought of François was unsettling her. The boy must also be a prisoner, they must be torturing him too and immolating him, like his mother, on the altars of the execrable gods.
"No, no, he will come," Stéphane declared. "You will be saved . . . . I will have it so . . . . I know it."
She replied, wildly:
"He is imprisoned as we are . . . . They are burning him with torches, driving arrows into him, tearing his flesh . . . . Oh, my poor little son! . . ."
"He will come, dear, he told you he would. Nothing can separate a mother and son who have been brought together again."
"We have found each other in death; we shall be united in death. I wish it might be at once! I don't want him to suffer!"
The agony was too great. With an effort she released her hands from Stéphane's and made a movement to fling herself down. But she immediately threw herself back against the draw-bridge, with a cry of amazement which was echoed by Stéphane.
Something had passed before their eyes and disappeared again. It came from the left.
"The ladder!" exclaimed Stéphane. "It's the ladder, isn't it?"
"Yes, it's François," said Véronique, catching herbreath with joy and hope. "He is saved. He is coming to rescue us."
At that moment, the wall of torment was almost upright, vibrating implacably beneath their shoulders. The cave no longer existed behind them. The depths had already claimed them; at most they were clinging to a narrow ledge.
Véronique leant outwards again. The ladder swung back and then became stationary, fixed by its two hooks.
Above them, at the opening in the cliff, was a boy's face; and the boy was smiling and making gestures:
"Mother, mother . . . quick!"
The call was eager and urgent. The two arms were outstretched towards the pair below. Véronique moaned:
"Oh, it's you, it's you, my darling!"
"Quick, mother, I'm holding the ladder! . . . Quick! . . . It's quite safe!"
"I'm coming, darling, I'm coming."
She had seized the nearest upright. This time, with Stéphane's assistance, she had no difficulty in placing her foot on the bottom rung. But she said:
"And you, Stéphane? You're coming with me, aren't you?"
"I have plenty of time," he said. "Hurry."
"No, you must promise."
"I swear. Hurry."
She climbed four rungs and stopped:
"Are you coming, Stéphane?"
He had already turned towards the cliff and slipped his left hand into a narrow fissure which remained between the draw-bridge and the rock. Hisright hand reached the ladder and he was able to set foot on the lowest rung. He too was saved.
With what delight Véronique covered the rest of the distance! What mattered the void below her, now that her son was there, waiting for her to clasp him to her breast at last!
"Here I am, here I am," she said. "Here I am, my darling."
She swiftly put her head and shoulders in the window. He pulled her through; and she climbed over the ledge. At last she was with her son.
They flung themselves into each other's arms:
"Oh, mother, mother, is it really true? Mother!"
But she had no sooner closed her arms about him than she drew back a little, she did not know why. An inexplicable discomfort checked her first outburst.
"Come here," she said, dragging him to the light of the window. "Come and let me look at you."
The boy did as she wished. She examined him for two or three seconds, no longer, and suddenly, giving a start of terror, ejaculated:
"Then it's you? It's you, the murderer?"
Oh, horror! She was once more looking on the face of the monster who had killed her father and Honorine before her eyes!
"So you know me?" he chuckled.
Véronique realised her mistake from the boy's very tone. This was not François but the other, the one who had played his devilish part in the clothes which François usually wore.
He gave another chuckle:
"Ah, you're beginning to see things as they are, ma'am! You know me now, don't you?"
The hateful face contracted, became wicked and cruel, animated by the vilest expression.
"Vorski! Vorski!" stammered Véronique. "It's Vorski I recognise in you."
He burst out laughing:
"Why not? Do you think I'm going to disown my father as you did?"
"Vorski's son! His son!" Véronique repeated.
"Lord bless me, yes, his son: why shouldn't I be? Surely the good fellow had the right to have two sons! Me first and dear François next!"
"Vorski's son!" Véronique exclaimed once more.
"And one of the best, I tell you, ma'am, a worthy son of his father and brought up on the highest principles. I've shown you as much already, haven't I? But it's not finished, we're only at the beginning . . . . Here, would you like me to give you a fresh proof? Just take a squint at that stick-in-the-mud of a tutor! . . . No, but look how things go when I take a hand in them."
He sprang to the window. Stéphane's head appeared. The boy picked up a stone and struck with all his might, throwing him backwards.
Véronique, who at the first moment had hesitated, not realising the danger, now rushed and seized the boy's arm. It was too late. The head vanished. The hooks of the ladder slipped off the ledge. There was a loud cry, followed by the sound of a body falling into the water below.
Véronique ran to the window. The ladder wasfloating on the part of the little pool which she was able to see, lying motionless in its frame of rocks. There was nothing to point to the place where Stéphane had fallen, not an eddy, not a ripple.
She called out:
"Stéphane! Stéphane! . . ."
No reply, nothing but the great silence of space in which the winds are still and the sea asleep.
"You villain, what have you done?" she cried.
"Don't take on, missus," he said. "Master Stéphane brought up your kid to be a duffer. Come it's a laughing matter, it is, really. Give us a kiss, won't you, daddy's missus? But, I say, what a face you're pulling! Surely you don't hate me as much as all that?"
He went up to her, with his arms outstretched. Véronique swiftly covered him with her revolver:
"Be off, be off, or I'll kill you as I would a mad dog! Be off!"
The boy's face became more inhuman than ever. He fell back step by step, snarling:
"Oh, I'll make you pay for this, my pretty lady! . . . What do you mean by it? I come up to give you a kiss . . . I'm full of kindly feelings . . . and you want to shoot me! You shall pay for it in blood . . . in nice red flowing blood . . . blood . . . blood . . . ."
He seemed to love the sound of the word. He repeated it time after time, then once more gave a burst of evil laughter and fled down the tunnel which led to the Priory, shouting:
"The blood of your son, Mother Véronique! . . . The blood of your darling François!"
Shuddering, uncertain how to act next, Véronique listened till she no longer heard the sound of his footsteps. What should she do? The murder of Stéphane had for a moment turned her thoughts from François; but she now once more fell a prey to anguish. What had become of her son? Should she go to him at the Priory and defend him against the dangers that threatened him?
"Come, come," she said, "I'm losing my head . . . . Let me think things out . . . . A few hours ago, François was speaking to me through the wall of his prison . . . for it was certainly he then, it was certainly François who yesterday took my hand and covered it with his kisses . . . . A mother cannot be deceived; and I was quivering with love and tenderness . . . . But since . . . since this morning has he not left his prison?"
She stopped to think and then said, slowly:
"That's it . . . that's what happened . . . . Stéphane 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 François. 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 tohim to run to the window, knowing that it overlooked the sea and suspecting that François 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 François . . . ."
Nevertheless Véronique did not stir. She had an instinct that the danger lay not at the Priory but here, by the cells. And she wondered whether François 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 pass 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 passages facing her; and Véronique 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 passage, a woman surprised by her unexpected entrance.
"It's their accomplice," thought Véronique."She came up with the boy who killed Stéphane, and she has no doubt taken François away . . . . Perhaps François is even there still, quite near me, while she's watching me . . . ."
Meanwhile Véronique'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," Véronique wondered, "since she obviously wants to put a barrier between us?"
Véronique 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, Véronique 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 assistance. And almost at the same time, in the passage, at some distance from the woman, there was a cry:
"Mother! Mother!"
Ah, with what deep emotion Véronique 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 heras 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. Véronique walked through.
The woman had already fled down the passage 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. Véronique 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. Véronique 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 assistance. None come. Then she lowered her eyes to François and made a movement as though to seize upon her prey again.
"Don't touch him!" Véronique 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."
Véronique, 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!" Véronique commanded. She understood that the woman had been Vorski's mistress and feared that she would make some disclosure in François' 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, Véronique: it's your turn now; and you're only at the beginning of it!"
"Go!" cried Véronique, 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. Véronique . . . . 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 François, suspecting the contest in his mother's mind.
Véronique 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.
"Yes, darling, your own mother; and no one shall take you from me again, that I swear to you."
Without troubling about the wounds inflicted by the stone she slipped, this time almost at the first attempt, through the gap made by François, drew him after her and then, but not before, released him from his bonds.
"There is no danger here," she said, "at least for the moment, because they can hardly get at us except by the cell and I shall be able to defend the entrance."
Mother and son exchanged the fondest of embraces. There was now no barrier to part theirlips and their arms. They could see each other, could gaze into each other's eyes.
"How handsome you are, my darling!" said Véronique.
She saw no resemblance between him and the boy murderer and was astonished that Honorine could have taken one for the other. And she felt as if she would never weary of admiring the breeding, the frankness and the sweetness which she read in his face.
"And you, mother," he said, "do you think that I ever pictured a mother as beautiful as you? No, not even in my dreams, when you seemed as lovely as a fairy. And yet Stéphane often used to tell me . . ."
She interrupted him:
"We must hurry, dearest, and take refuge from their pursuit. We must go."
"Yes," he said, "and above all we must leave Sarek. I have invented a plan of escape which is bound to succeed. But, first of all, Stéphane: what has become of him? I heard the sound of which I spoke to you underneath my cell and I fear . . ."
She dragged him along by the hand, without answering his question:
"I have many things to tell you, darling, painful things which I must no longer keep from you. But presently will do . . . . For the moment we must take refuge in the Priory. That woman will go in search of help and come after us."
"But she was not alone, mother, when she entered my cell suddenly and caught me in the act of digging at the wall. There was some one with her."
"A boy, wasn't it? A boy of your own size?"
"I could hardly see. He and the woman fell upon me, bound me and carried me into the passage. Then the woman left me for a moment and he went back to the cell. He therefore knows about this tunnel by now and about the exit in the Priory grounds."
"Yes, I know. But we shall easily get the better of him; and we'll block up the exit."
"But there remains the bridge which joins the two islands," François objected.
"No," she said, "I burnt it down and the Priory is absolutely cut off."
They were walking very quickly, Véronique pressing her pace, François a little anxious at the words spoken by his mother.
"Yes, yes," he said, "I see that there is a good deal which I don't know and which you have kept from me, mother, in order not to frighten me. For instance, when you burnt down the bridge . . . . It was with the petrol set aside for the purpose, wasn't it, and as arranged with Maguennoc in case of danger? So you were threatened too; and the first attack was made on you, mother? . . . And then there was something that woman said with such a hateful look on her face! . . . And then . . . and then, above all, what has become of Stéphane? They were whispering about him just now in my cell . . . . All this worries me . . . . Then again I don't see the ladder which you brought . . . ."
"Please, dearest, don't let us wait a moment. The woman will have found assistance . . . ."
The boy stopped short:
"Mother."
"What? Do you hear anything?"
"Some one walking."
"Are you sure?"
"Some one coming this way."
"Oh," she said, in a hollow voice, "it's the murderer coming back from the Priory!"
She felt her revolver and prepared herself for anything that might happen. But suddenly she pushed François towards a dark corner on her left, formed by the entry to one of those tunnels, probably blocked, which she had noticed when she came.
"Get in there," she said. "We shall be all right here: he will not see us."
The sound approached.
"Stand well back," she said, "and don't stir."
The boy whispered:
"What's that in your hand? A revolver? Mother, you're not going to fire?"
"I ought to, I ought to," said Véronique. "He's such a monster! . . . It's as with his mother . . . I ought to have . . . we shall perhaps regret it." And she added, almost unconsciously, "He killed your grandfather."
"Oh, mother, mother!"
She supported him, to prevent his falling, and amid the silence she heard the boy sobbing on her breast and stammering:
"Never mind . . . don't fire, mother . . . ."
"Here he comes, darling, here he comes; look at him."
The other passed. He was walking slowly, a little bent, listening for the least sound. He appeared to Véronique to be the exact same size asher son; and this time, when she looked at him with more attention, she was not so much surprised that Honorine and M. d'Hergemont had been taken in, for there were really some points of resemblance, which would have been accentuated by the fact that he was wearing the red cap stolen from François.
He walked on.
"Do you know him?" asked Véronique.
"No, mother."
"Are you sure that you never saw him?"
"Sure."
"And it was he who fell upon you, with the woman, in your cell?"
"I haven't a doubt of it, mother. He even hit me in the face, for no reason, with absolute hatred."
"Oh," she said, "this is all incomprehensible! When shall we escape this awful nightmare?"
"Quick, mother, the road's clear. Let's make the most of it."
On returning to the light, she saw that he was very pale and felt his hand in hers like a lump of ice. Nevertheless he looked up at her with a smile of happiness.
They set out again; and soon, after passing the strip of cliff that joined the two islands and climbing the staircases, they emerged in the open air, to the right of Maguennoc's garden. The daylight was beginning to wane.
"We are saved," said Véronique.
"Yes," replied the boy, "but only on condition that they cannot reach us by the same road. We shall have to bar it, therefore."
"How?"
"Wait for me here; I'll go and fetch some tools at the Priory."
"Oh, don't let us leave each other, François!"
"You can come with me, mother."
"And suppose the enemy arrives in the meantime? No, we must defend this outlet."
"Then help me, mother."
A rapid inspection showed them that one of the two stones which formed a roof above the entrance was not very firmly rooted in its place. They found no difficulty in first shifting and then clearing it. The stone fell across the staircase and was at once covered by an avalanche of earth and pebbles which made the passage, if not impracticable, at least very hard to manage.
"All the more so," said François, "as we shall stay here until we are able to carry out my plan. And be easy, mother; it's a sound scheme and we have nearly managed it."
For that matter, they recognized above all, that rest was essential. They were both of them worn out.
"Lie down, mother . . . look, just here: there's a bed of moss under this overhanging rock which makes a regular nest. You'll be as cosy as a queen there and sheltered from the cold."
"Oh, my darling, my darling!" murmured Véronique, overcome with happiness.
It was now the time for explanations; and Véronique did not hesitate to give them. The boy's grief at hearing of the death of all those whom he had known would be mitigated by the great joy which he felt at recovering his mother. She therefore spoke without reserve, cradling him in her lap,wiping away his tears, feeling plainly that she was enough to make up for all the lost affections and friendships. He was particularly afflicted by Stéphane's death.
"But is it quite certain?" he asked. "For, after all, there is nothing to tell us that he is drowned. Stéphane is a perfect swimmer; and so . . . Yes, yes, mother, we must not despair . . . on the contrary . . . . Look, here's a friend who always comes at the worst times, to declare that everything is not lost."
All's Well came trotting along. The sight of his master did not appear to surprise him. Nothing unduly surprised All's Well. Events, to his mind, always followed one another in a natural order which did not disturb either his habits or his occupations. Tears alone seemed to him worthy of special attention. And Véronique and François were not crying.
"You see, mother? All's Well agrees with me; nothing is lost . . . . But, upon my word, All's Well, you're a sharp little fellow! What would you have said, eh, if we'd left the island without you?"
Véronique looked at her son:
"Left the island?"
"Certainly: and the sooner the better. That's my plan. What do you say to it?"
"But how are we to get away?"
"In a boat."
"Is there one here?"
"Yes, mine."
"Where?"
"Close by, at Sarek Point."
"But how are we to get down? The cliff is perpendicular."
"She's at the very place where the cliff is steepest, a place known as the Postern. The name puzzled Stéphane and myself. A postern suggests an entrance, a gate. Well, we ended by learning that, in the middle ages, at the time of the monks, the little isle on which the Priory stands was surrounded by ramparts. It was therefore to be presumed that there was a postern here which commanded an outlet on the sea. And in fact, after hunting about with Maguennoc, we discovered, on the flat top of the cliff, a sort of gully, a sandy depression reinforced at intervals by regular walls made of big building-stones. A path winds down the middle, with steps and windows on the side of the sea, and leads to a little bay. That is the Postern outlet. We repaired it: and my boat is hanging at the foot of the cliff."
Véronique's features underwent a transformation:
"Then we're safe now!"
"There's no doubt of that."
"And the enemy can't get there?"
"How could he?"
"He has the motor-boat at his disposal."
"He has never been there, because he doesn't know of the bay nor of the way down to it either: you can't see them from the open sea. Besides, they are protected by a thousand sharp-pointed rocks."
"And what's to prevent us from leaving at once?"
"The darkness, mother. I'm a good marinerand accustomed to navigate all the channels that lead away from Sarek, but I should not be at all sure of not striking some reef or other. No, we must wait for daylight."
"It seems so long!"
"A few hours' patience, mother. And we are together, you and I! At break of dawn, we'll take the boat and begin by hugging the foot of the cliff till we are underneath the cells. Then we'll pick up Stéphane, who of course will be waiting for us on some strip of beach, and we'll all be off, won't we, All's Well? We'll land at Pont-l'Abbé at twelve o'clock or so. That's my plan."
Véronique could not contain her delight and admiration. She was astonished to find so young a boy giving proofs of such self-possession.
"It's splendid, darling, and you're right in everything. Luck is decidedly coming our way."
The evening passed without incidents. An alarm, however, a noise under the rubbish which blocked the underground passage and a ray of light trickling through a slit obliged them to mount guard until the minute of their departure. But it did not affect their spirits.
"Why, of course I'm easy in my mind," said François. "From the moment when I found you again, I felt that it was for good. Besides, if the worst came to the worst, have we not a last hope left? Stéphane spoke to you about it, I expect. And it makes you laugh, my confidence in a rescuer whom I have never seen . . . . Well, I tell you, mother, if I were to see a dagger about to strike me, I should be certain, absolutely certain, mind you, that a hand would come and ward off the blow."
"Alas," she said, "that providential hand did not prevent all the misfortunes of which I told you!"
"It will keep off those which threaten my mother," declared the boy.
"How? This unknown friend has not been warned."
"He will come all the same. He doesn't need to be warned to know how great the danger is. He will come. And, mother, promise me one thing: whatever happens, you must have confidence."
"I will have confidence, darling, I promise you."
"And you will be right," he said, laughing, "for I shall be the leader. And what a leader, eh, mother? Why, yesterday evening I foresaw that, to carry the enterprise through successfully and so that my mother should be neither cold nor hungry, in case we were not able to take the boat this afternoon, we must have food and rugs! Well, they will be of use to us to-night, seeing that for prudence's sake we mustn't abandon our post here and sleep at the Priory. Where did you put the parcel, mother?"
They ate gaily and with a good appetite. Then François wrapped his mother up and tucked her in: and they both fell asleep, lying close together, happy and unafraid.
When the keen air of the morning woke Véronique, a belt of rosy light streaked the sky. François was sleeping the peaceful sleep of a child that feels itself protected and is untroubled by dreams. For a long time she just sat gazing at him without wearying: and she was still looking at him when the sun was high above the horizon.
"To work, mother," he said, after he had opened his eyes and given her a kiss. "No one in the tunnel? No. Then we have plenty of time to go on board."
They took the rugs and provisions and, with brisk steps, went towards the descent leading to the Postern, at the extreme end of the island. Beyond this point the rocks were heaped up in formidable confusion: and the sea, though calm, lapped against them noisily.
"I hope your boat's there still!" said Véronique.
"Lean over a little, mother. You can see her down there, hanging in that crevice. We have only to work the pulley to get her afloat. Oh, it's all very well thought out, mother darling! We have nothing to fear . . . . Only . . . only . . ."
He had interrupted himself and was thinking.
"What? What is it?" asked Véronique.
"Oh, nothing! A slight delay."
"But . . ."
He began to laugh:
"Really, for the leader of an expedition, it's rather humiliating, I admit. Just fancy, I've forgotten one thing: the oars. They are at the Priory."
"But this is terrible!" cried Véronique.
"Why? I'll run to the Priory and I shall be back in ten minutes."
All Véronique's apprehensions returned:
"And suppose they make their way out of the tunnel meanwhile?"
"Come, come, mother," he laughed, "you promised to have confidence. To get out of thetunnel would take them an hour's hard work; and we should hear them. Besides, what's the use of talking, mother? I'll be back at once."
He ran off.
"François! François!"
He did not reply.
"Oh," she thought, once more assailed by forebodings. "I had sworn not to leave him for a second!"
She followed him at a distance and stopped on a hillock between the Fairies' Dolmen and the Calvary of the Flowers. From here she could see the entrance to the tunnel and also saw her son jogging along the grass.
He first went into the basement of the Priory. But the oars seemed not to be there, for he came out almost at once and went to the main door, which he opened and disappeared from sight.
"One minute ought to be plenty for him," said Véronique to herself. "The oars must be in the hall . . . or at any rate on the ground-floor . . . . Say two minutes, at the outside."
She counted the seconds while watching the entrance to the tunnel.
But three minutes, four minutes, five minutes passed: and the front-door did not open again.
All Véronique's confidence vanished. She thought that it was mad of her not to have gone with her son and that she ought never to have submitted to a child's will. Without troubling about the tunnel or the dangers from that side, she began to walk towards the Priory. But she had the horrible feeling which people sometimes experience indreams, when their legs seem paralysed and when they are unable to move, while the enemy advances to attack them.
And suddenly, on reaching the Dolmen, she beheld a sight the meaning of which was immediately clear to her. The ground at the foot of the oaks round the right-hand part of the semi-circle was littered with lately cut branches, which still bore their green leaves.
She raised her eyes and stood stupefied and dismayed.
One oak alone had been stripped. And on the huge trunk, bare to a height of twelve or fifteen feet, there was a paper, transfixed by an arrow and bearing the inscription, "V. d'H."
"The fourth cross," Véronique faltered, "the cross marked with my name!"
She supposed that, as her father was dead, the initials of her maiden name must have been written by one of her enemies, the chief of them, no doubt; and for the first time, under the influence of recent events, remembering the woman and the boy who were persecuting her, she involuntarily attributed a definite set of features to that enemy.
It was a fleeting impression, an improbable theory, of which she was not even conscious. She was overwhelmed by something much more terrible. She suddenly understood that the monsters, those creatures of the heath and the cells, the accomplices of the woman and the boy, must have been there, since the cross was prepared. No doubt they had built a foot-bridge and thrown it over the chasm to take the place of the bridge to which she had set fire.They were masters of the Priory. And François was once more in their hands!
Then she rushed straight along, collecting all her strength. She in her turn ran over the turf, dotted with ruins, that sloped towards the front of the house.
"François! François! François!"
She called his name in a piercing voice. She announced her coming with loud cries. Thus did she reach the Priory.
One half of the door stood ajar. She pushed it and darted into the hall, crying:
"François! François!"
The call rang from floor to attic and throughout the house, but remained unanswered:
"François! François!"
She went upstairs, opening doors at random, running into her son's room, into Stéphane's, into Honorine's. She found nobody.
"François! François! . . . Don't you hear me? Are they hurting you? . . . Oh, François, do answer!"
She went back to the landing. Opposite her was M. d'Hergemont's study. She flung herself upon the door and at once recoiled, as though stricken by a vision from hell.
A man was standing there, with arms crossed and apparently waiting for her. And it was the man whom she had pictured for an instant when thinking of the woman and the boy. It was the third monster!
She said, simply, but in a voice filled with inexpressible horror:
"Vorski! . . . Vorski! . . ."