I groaned. My hands were trembling so I could not control them. I tried to pick up the file and found that I could not hold it.
“It is too late,” I groaned. “Did she tell you to give me a vial, Ninon?”
“Yes, yes,” she cried. “Here it is,” and she held it up.
“Give it to me,” I said, and reached for it.
“What is it, M. Pierre?” she asked, springing back, her eyes large with terror.
“No matter,” I answered. “Give it me, Ninon. It is the easiest way.”
“No, no! Be a man, Monsieur! Oh, you are a man—such a brave man!” and she raised the vial and dashed it against the wall. It broke with a little crash. The liquid trickled down over the stones and filled the cell with a pleasant, sweetish odor.
“Give me the file,” she said, and took it from my palsied hand. “Do not despair, Monsieur, there is yet time,” and she was filing away at the chain with all her little strength. “Oh, I was wrong to say you slept. See, it is almost through. In half an hour it will be quite through, and you will be free.”
Back and forth the file went. I watched her stupidly, and saw without understanding it that her hands turned red and that the chain was wet with blood.
“Think of Nanette, M. Pierre,” she said, looking up for a moment into my eyes. “Think of Nanette, that dear Nanette, whom you are going to rescue presently—whom you are going to make so happy.”