The runner, whose eyes were no doubt accustomed to the gloom, had drawn nearer to the carriage.
“The gates of the chateau,” he said, still somewhat breathlessly, “are just opposite here on the right, citizen. I have just come through them.”
“Speak up, man!” and Heron’s voice now sounded as if choked with passion. “Citizen Chauvelin sent you?”
“Yes. He bade me tell you that he has gained access to the chateau, and that Capet is not there.”
A series of citizen Heron’s choicest oaths interrupted the man’s speech. Then he was curtly ordered to proceed, and he resumed his report.
“Citizen Chauvelin rang at the door of the chateau; after a while he was admitted by an old servant, who appeared to be in charge, but the place seemed otherwise absolutely deserted—only—”
“Only what? Go on; what is it?”
“As we rode through the park it seemed to us as if we were being watched, and followed. We heard distinctly the sound of horses behind and around us, but we could see nothing; and now, when I ran back, again I heard. There are others in the park to-night besides us, citizen.”
There was silence after that. It seemed as if the flood of Heron’s blasphemous eloquence had spent itself at last.
“Others in the park!” And now his voice was scarcely above a whisper, hoarse and trembling. “How many? Could you see?”