‘The very air is redolent of mortality. The decay of ages, in some of the coffins, leaves but the food for that lamp which is now burning above us. Bras d’Acier is an economist; and many of the quiet inhabitants of the cemetery become more useful to mankind in death than they ever were in lifetime. They form his flambeaux.’[4]
‘Is there no one to aid me,’ cried Louise in agony, and shrinking from the accumulated horrors of Lachaussée’s description.
The dull knocking sound was again audible, but louder. It appeared to be close at hand, and the girl redoubled her outcry.
‘Be still, I tell you,’ said Bras d’Acier, ‘and come instantly with us.’
‘With you!’ exclaimed Louise; ‘never; you shall kill me first. Mother of Mercy! pity me; for to you alone can I now look for assistance.’
She fell on her knees and grasped a small crucifix that was suspended from her neck. Lachaussée snatched it from her, and threw it amidst the bones and rubbish in the corner.
‘One moment’s delay,’ he added, ‘and you are lost. Do you see that wall where the water is trickling and oozing into the font? It is not thicker than the length of your hand, and that is the only boundary between us and a branch of the cold Bièvre, which flows over our heads. We have but to confine you in this room, and let in the river; the carrière will be filled, and every record of the deed hidden. Come.’
‘Leave me here—drown me—if you know what mercy means,’ returned Louise, as she struggled with her persecutor. ‘How have I ever injured you, that you should persecute me thus terribly?’
‘Your own sense might have warned you not to annoy M. de Sainte-Croix as you have done. But we have no time for words; you will have plenty of leisure in the Carrière Montrouge to learn everything. Bras d’Acier, you have broader shoulders than my own to carry a burden. Take up the squalling minx, and follow me. I will precede you with the light.’
The huge ruffian advanced towards Louise Gauthier, who, despite their threats, shrieked with terror as he approached. He lifted her as he would have done an infant, whilst Lachaussée took down the lamp from where it hung and prepared to go before him. But as they were leaving the vault the noise sounded close at their side; the very walls appeared to quiver from some unseen blows; a few of the stalactites fell down with the vibration at their feet, and lastly the gypsum that formed the doorway was shivered into the chamber in large blocks, and a bar of iron, sharpened at one end, protruded, as though it came from the very bowels of the quarry. The concussion and the fall of the blocks brought down others with them, and one large mass falling from the top of the archway completely closed the passage.