She had succeeded in pushing Jeanne roughly away and already had her hand on the door, when it was opened from the outside, and the flickering light of a carriage lanthorn fell full on the interior of the vehicle. Neither Crystal nor Mme. la Duchesse could effectually suppress a sudden gasp of terror, whilst Jeanne threw her shawl right over her head, for of a truth she thought that here was the devil himself.
The light illumined the lanthorn-bearer only fitfully, but to the terror-stricken women he appeared to be preternaturally tall and broad, with wide caped coat pulled up to his ears and an old-fashioned tricorne hat on his head; his face was entirely hidden by a black mask, and his hands by black kid gloves.
"I pray you ladies," he said quietly, and this time the voice was obviously disguised and quite unrecognisable. "I pray you have no fear. Neither I nor my men will do you or yours the slightest harm, if you will allow me without any molestation on your part to make an examination of the interior of your carriage."
Mme. la Duchesse and Jeanne remained silent: the one from fear, the other from dignity. But it was not in Crystal's nature to submit quietly to any unlawful coercion.
"This is an infamy," she protested loudly, "and you, my man, will swing on the nearest gallows for it."
"No doubt I should if I were found out," said the man imperturbably, "but the military patrols of M. le Comte d'Artois don't come out as far as this: nevertheless I must ask you ladies not to detain me on my business any longer. My men are at the door and it is over a quarter of an hour ago since we placed M. de St. Genis temporarily yet effectually hors de combat. I pray you, therefore, step out without delay so that I may proceed to ascertain whether there is anything in this carriage likely to suit my requirements."
"You must be a madman as well as a thief," retorted Crystal loudly, "to imagine that we would submit to such an outrage."
"If you do not submit, Madame," said the man calmly, "I will order my man to shoot M. le Comte in the right leg."
"You would not dare. . . ."
But the miscreant turned his head slowly round and called over his shoulder into the night: