The old woman's footsteps were heard hurrying back. Bertrand struggled to free himself—did in truth succeed; and Theresia smothered a desperate cry of warning as he strode rapidly through the door and across the vestibule, only to be met here by Pepita, who pushed him with all her might incontinently back.
Theresia held her tiny handkerchief to her mouth to deaden the scream that forced itself to her lips. She had followed Bertrand out of the salon, and now stood in the doorway, a living statue of fear.
"Citizen Tallien," Pepita had murmured hurriedly. "He is on the landing. Come this way."
She dragged Bertrand by the arm, not waiting for orders from her mistress this time, along a narrow dark passage, which at its extreme end gave access to a tiny kitchen. Into this she pushed him and locked the door upon him.
"Name of a name!" she muttered as she shuffled back to the vestibule. "If they should find him here!"
Citoyenne Cabarrus had not moved. Her eyes, dilated with terror, mutely questioned the old woman as the latter made ready to admit the visitor. Pepita gave reply as best she could, by silent gestures, indicating the passage and the action of turning a key in the lock. Her wrinkled old lips hardly stirred, and then only in order to murmur quickly and with a sudden assumption of authority:
"Self-possession, my cabbage, or you'll endanger yourself and us all!"
Theresia pulled herself together. Obviously, the old woman's warning was not to be ignored, nor had it been given a moment too soon. Outside, the visitor had renewed his impatient rat-tat against the door. The eyes of mistress and maid met for one brief second. Theresia was rapidly regaining her presence of mind; whereupon Pepita smoothed out her apron, readjusted her cap, and went to open the door, whilst Theresia said in a firm voice, loudly enough for the new visitor to hear:
"One of my guests, at last! Open quickly, Pepita!"