“Wait a moment,” whispered Richelieu, as I began to feel for the spring, whose approximate position I had also seen. “Does Charlotte know of this visit?”
“No,” I answered; “I had no opportunity to warn her of it, else I doubt not she would have sent some one to guide us and so saved us all this trouble.”
“But,” Richelieu objected, “perhaps she will not be alone; perhaps she will resent an intrusion of this kind.”
“Very well,” I answered, losing patience a little at this unexpected wavering, which was so unlike the duke, “we can yet turn back, open the door, return to the carriage, drive to your hotel, and secure a good night’s rest before attending the wedding to-morrow morning.”
“Forgive me, de Brancas,” said Richelieu, after a moment. “I am so unstrung I scarce know what I am saying. Open the door if you can find the spring.”
I felt along the boards for two or three minutes without result. It doubtless seemed an age to Richelieu, and I could hear him breathing unevenly and shuffling his feet behind me.
“For God’s sake, de Brancas,” he said at last, in a strained whisper, “make haste! This is more than I can bear.”
I felt myself beginning to tremble in sympathy with him, and pulled myself up with a jerk, recognizing the fact that it was absolutely necessary for one of us to keep his head.
“A little patience,” I whispered; “this spring is more difficult to find than the other, and it is so devilishly dark here.”
Again I ran my hand up and down the wall. It was made of narrow boards fitted closely together. Back and forth I passed my hand over it, and just as I was beginning to despair I felt a slight inequality. I pressed it and the door opened against us. We stepped back out of the way, and in a moment were in the closet. The door shut behind us of its own accord.