“You next, my friend,” I said to Fronsac on the instant. He would have protested, but I pushed him to the edge. “Hasten. Think who awaits you below.”
Without a word he let himself carefully over the edge. I could see the rope quivering under the double weight, and noted with anxious eyes how it chafed against the edge of the rock. The moments passed, and at last I saw that he too was down.
I stooped to test the rope where the rock had chafed it, when there came a sudden hideous roar from overhead, a crash of splitting timbers—they had fired a petard against the door—had blown it down—I understood now the reason of their silence!
There was no time to hesitate. I caught the rope and threw myself over the cliff. My knees scraped against the rock, the rope burned deep into my fingers, still smarting from the dagger-cut. But I held fast, praying that they might not see the rope for yet a moment—yet a moment—yet a moment!
Some one tugged at it from above, then it suddenly gave way. I felt myself falling—I grasped at the cliff—I seemed to choke—and the world turned black about me.
CHAPTER XV
ROQUEFORT EXACTS A PROMISE
I opened my eyes to find Fronsac bending over me. He had torn the clothing from my breast and had one hand above my heart.
“It still beats!” he said. “Thank God, it still beats! We must get him to your father’s surgeon, Valérie.”
To the surgeon! I had been hurt, then? And in an instant I remembered—the rope had been cut—I had fallen. Was I dying? The thought sent a shock through me.
“Come, Fronsac,” I said. “What is it? How badly am I hurt?”