"Would they take the papers by force?" Her voice was very anxious, but still not terrified.
"Very likely—if I won't part with them. Don't be uneasy. I sha'n't forget your affair."
She pressed his arm gratefully, and drew back till she stood close to the trusses of straw, ready to seek a hiding-place in case of need. She was not much too soon. A man hurled himself violently against the door. The upper part gave and gaped an inch or two; the lower stood firm, thanks to the block of wood that barred its opening. Even as the assault was delivered against the door, Dieppe had blown out the candle. In darkness he and she stood waiting and listening.
"Lend a hand. We shall do it together," cried the voice of M. Guillaume.
"I 'll be hanged it I move without five thousand francs!"
Dieppe put up both hands and leant with all his weight against the upper part of the door. He smiled at his prescience when Guillaume flung himself against it once more. Now there was no yielding, no opening—not a chink. Guillaume was convinced.
"Curse you, you shall have the money," they heard him say. "Come, hold the lantern here."