Manassa placed the basket upon the floor, then took a piece of paper from his pocket—the instructions for opening the door of the dungeon chamber! Should she rush from her hiding-place, tear it from him, and open the door herself? No, she would let him do that. She would save what strength she had for what might come afterward.
With much difficulty, Manassa succeeded in opening the door:
“Vandemar! Vandemar Della Coscia! I have brought you some food and a nice bottle of wine. You must be hungry. Come and eat.” The words were spoken in a taunting tone, which belied their meaning. There was no response, and the old man laughed, mockingly.
“If I were not so old,” said he, “I would bring it to you; but, if you cannot come for it, you will have to go without it. I am so sorry, my good Vandemar, for I am sure you must be very hungry.”
After hearing these sarcastic words and, again, that horrible, mocking laugh, Vivienne could restrain herself no longer. With a cry like that of a tigress, she leaped upon old Manassa and hurled him to the floor. He was stunned by the fall and lay motionless. Vivienne took up the basket of food and tried to carry it, but her strength failed her and she was obliged to put it down upon the floor again. Then she grasped one side of it and was pulling it towards the dungeon door, when Manassa revived and saw who his assailant had been. He quickly divined her evident purpose to take the food to Vandemar. He did not try to regain his feet, but crawled upon his hands and knees until he was able to grasp the other side of the basket.
It was literally a contest for life or death—to Vandemar. Manassa was the stronger, and Vivienne felt herself being drawn slowly away from the dungeon door. In her fury, she drew from her bosom the stiletto which she had taken from Madeline Villefort and, making a desperate lunge, stabbed Manassa in the arm. With a cry of pain, he released his hold upon the basket. Vivienne, full of exultation, dragged it along the stone floor and pulled it into the dungeon chamber.
Manassa scrambled to his feet and stood, for a moment, uncertain what course to pursue. Then that look of demoniac wickedness, which had so startled Vivienne, came into his face again. He chuckled—a savage, unearthly sound:
“She loves her enemy. She is no longer a Batistelli, but a Della Coscia—and she shall die with him!”
Summoning all his strength, he closed the great door, and then, with the blood streaming from his wound, shambled from the room. Again that mocking laugh and those revengeful words:
“She is no longer a Batistelli—she is a Della Coscia. She shall die with him!”