She beat her hands against the door, wounding her delicate flesh. She was not conscious of what she was doing. A mystic veil divided her reasoning powers from that terrible mental picture which glowed before her through the blood-red darkness. The lonely shore, the angry sea, the French ship Le Monarque flying the pennant of traitors!
Then suddenly an astonished and deeply horrified voice broke in upon her ears.
"Madame la Marquise, in the name of Heaven! Madame la Marquise!"
She heard quick footsteps behind her, and left off hammering against the door, left off screaming and moaning, but she had not the power to raise herself from her knees.
"Madame la Marquise," came in respectful, yet frightened accents, "will Madame la Marquise deign to allow me to raise her—I fear Madame la Marquise is not well!"
She recognized the voice of Achille, milor's valet, yet it never entered her mind to feel ashamed at being found by a lacquey, thus kneeling before her husband's door. The worthy Achille was very upset. Etiquette forbade him to touch Madame la Marquise, but could he leave her there? in that position? He advanced timidly. His behaviour was superlatively correct even in this terrible emergency, and there was nothing in his deferential attitude to indicate that he thought anything abnormal had occurred.
"I thought I heard Madame la Marquise calling," he said, "and I thought perhaps Madame la Marquise would wish to speak with milor . . ."
But at the word she quickly interrupted him; rising to her feet even as she spoke.
"Yes! yes . . . ! milor . . . I do wish to speak with him . . . open the door, Achille . . . quick . . ."
"The door is locked on the outside, Madame la Marquise, but I have the key by me," said M. Achille gravely. "I had fortunately recollected that mayhap milor had forgotten to put out the lights, and would in any case have come to see that all was safe . . . if Madame la Marquise will deign to permit me . . ."