“Why? Tell me why? Ah, mother, I understand.”
“No, no,” said Madame de Montrevel, “you don’t understand.”
“Those gentlemen are robbers.”
“Take care you don’t say so.”
“What, you mean they are not robbers? Why, see they are taking the conductor’s money.”
Sure enough, one of the four was fastening to the saddle of his horse the bags of silver which the conductor threw down from the imperial.
“No,” repeated Madame de Montrevel, “no, they are not robbers.” Then lowering her voice, she added: “They are Companions of Jehu.”
“Ah!” cried the boy, “they are the ones who assassinated my friend, Sir John.”
And the child turned very pale, and his breath came hissing through his clinched teeth.
At that moment one of the masked men opened the door of the coupé, and said with exquisite politeness: “Madame la Comtesse, to our great regret we are obliged to disturb you; but we want, or rather the conductor wants, a package from the bottom of the coupé. Will you be so kind as to get out for a moment? Jérôme will get what he wants as quickly as possible.” Then, with that note of gayety which was never entirely absent from that laughing voice, he added, “Won’t you, Jérôme?”