“Is that you, Halmalo?”
“It is I, Monseigneur. You see I was right about the turning stones, and that there is a way of escape. I have come just in time. But you must make haste; ten minutes more, and you will be in the heart of the forest.”
“God is great!” said the priest.
“Save yourself, Monseigneur!” cried the men.
“Not until I have seen every one of you in safety,” said the Marquis.
“But you must lead the way, Monseigneur,” said the Abbé Turmeau.
“Not so,” replied the Marquis; “I shall be the last man to leave.”
And in a severe tone he continued: –
“Let there be no strife in this matter of generosity. We have no time for a display of magnanimity; your only chance for life is in escape. You hear my commands: make haste now, and take advantage of this outlet, – for which I thank you, Halmalo.”
“Are we, then, to separate, Monsieur le Marquis?” asked the Abbé Turmeau.
“Certainly, after we have left the tower; otherwise, there would be small chance for escape.”
“Will Monseigneur appoint some place of rendez-vous?”
“Yes; a glade in the forest, – the Pierre-Gauvaine. Do you know the spot?”
“We all know it.”
“All those who are able to walk will find me there to-morrow at noonday.”
“Every man will be on the spot.”
“And then we will begin the war over again,” said the Marquis.
Meanwhile Halmalo, bringing all his strength to bear on the turning stone, found that it would not stir, and therefore the opening could not be closed.
“Let us make haste, Monseigneur,” he cried; “the stone will not move. I managed to open the passage, but now I cannot close it.”
In fact, the stone, from a long disuse, had stiffened, so to speak, in its groove, and it was impossible to start it again.
“Monseigneur,” said Halmalo, “I hoped to close the passage, so that when the Blues came in and found no one here they would not know what to make of it, and might imagine that you had all vanished in smoke. But the stone is not to be moved, and the enemy will find the outlet and probably pursue us; so let us lose not a minute, but reach the staircase as quickly as we can.”
The Imânus laid his hand on Halmalo’s shoulder.
“Comrade,” he said, “how long will it take to go through this passage and reach the woods in safety?”
“Are any of the men seriously wounded?” asked Halmalo.
“None,” they answered.
“In that case, a quarter of an hour will be sufficient.”
“So if the enemy does not get in here for a quarter of an hour – ” rejoined the Imânus.
“He might pursue, but he could not overtake us.”
“But they will be upon us in five minutes,” said the Marquis; “that old chest cannot keep them out much longer. A few blows from their muskets will settle the affair. A quarter of an hour! Who could hold them at bay for a quarter of an hour?”
“I,” said the Imânus.
“You, Gouge-le-Bruant?”
“Yes, I, Monseigneur. Listen. Out of six men five of us are wounded. I have not even a scratch.”
“Nor I either,” said the Marquis.
“Yes, but you are the chief, Monseigneur. I am a soldier. The chief and the soldier are two different persons.”
“Our duties are not alike, it is true.”
“Monseigneur, at this moment we have but one duty between us, and that is to save your life.”
The Imânus turned to his companions.
“Comrades,” he said, “we must hold the enemy in check and delay pursuit until the last moment. Listen. I have not lost a drop of blood; not having been wounded, I am as strong as ever, and can hold out longer than any of the others. Go now, but leave me your weapons, and I promise to make good use of them. I will undertake to keep the enemy at bay a good half-hour. How many loaded pistols are there?”
“Four.”
“Put them down on the floor.”
They did as he required.
“That is well. I remain here, and they will find some one to entertain them. Now, get away as fast as you can.”
In moments of imminent peril gratitude finds but brief expression. Hardly had they time to press his hand.
“We shall soon meet again,” said the Marquis.
“I hope not, Monseigneur, – not quite at once, for I am about to die.”
One by one they made their way down the narrow staircase, the wounded in advance; and as they went, the Marquis drew a pencil from his note-book and wrote a few words on the stone that, refusing to turn, had thus left an open passage-way.
“Come, Monseigneur, you are the only one left,” said Halmalo, as he went down.
The Marquis followed him, and Imânus remained alone.