"Milor! milor! open! . . . it is I! . . . ! Lydie. . . . !"
Then as there was no answer from within she knocked louder still.
"Milor! Milor! awake! Milor! in the name of Heaven I entreat you to let me speak with you!"
At first she had thought that he slept, then that obstinate resentment caused him to deny her admittance. She tried to turn the knob of the door, but it did not yield.
"Milor! Milor!" she cried again, and then again.
Naught but silence was the reply.
Excitement grew upon her now, a febrile nervousness which caused her to pull at the lock, to bruise her fingers against the gilt ornaments of the panel, whilst her voice, hoarse and broken with sobs, rent with its echoes the peace and solemnity of the night.
"Milor! Milor!"
She had fallen on her knees, exhausted mentally and physically, the blood beating against her temples until the blackness around her seemed to have become a vivid red. In her ear was a sound like that of a tempestuous sea breaking against gigantic rocks, with voices calling at intervals, voices of dying men, loudly accusing her of treachery. The minutes were speeding by! Anon would come the dawn when Gaston would to horse, bearing the hideous message which would mean her lifelong infamy and the death of those who trusted her.
"Milor! milor! awake!" She now put her lips to the keyhole, breathing the words through the tiny orifice, hoping that he would hear. "Gaston will start at dawn . . . They will send Le Monarque, and she is ready to put to sea . . . Milor! your friend is in deadly peril. . . ! I entreat you to let me enter!"