“I don’t care,” Marguerite cried fiercely. Her face was alive with passion. “Use it, Paul. I don’t care!” and from far below there rose the sound of a loud knocking upon a door.
Marguerite’s heart fluttered up into her throat. She stared at Paul with her eyes opened wide in horror. The same thought was in both their minds. Both listened, holding their breath that they might hear the better.
“It was upon our door they knocked,” Marguerite whispered, and she crept a little closer to her lover.
“Listen!” replied Paul, and as the knocking began again, but this time louder, he added with a grim look upon his face, “Yes.”
“And it was not Selim who knocked,” said Marguerite.
They could hear cries now, angry orders to open, followed by a muffled clamour and such a clatter of heavy blows as shook the very house.
“I must go down,” said Paul, in a low voice. “Otherwise they’ll break in the door.”
Marguerite nodded. Her face was white to the lips, but she was quite still now and her eyes steady. They crept down to the uppermost floor of the house. The noise was louder.
“You will stay here, Marguerite?”
“Yes.”