Coquenil did not answer. He was looking through one of the open cracks, studying the dull glow beyond, and noting the hot breath that came through. What could he do? The fire was gaining with every second, the whirling blower was literally dragging the flames toward them through the dry wood pile. Already the heat was increasing, it would soon be unbearable; at this rate their hold on life was a matter of minutes.
"The fire may come through—a little," he answered comfortingly, "but I—I'll fix it so you will be—all right. Come! We'll build another barricade. You know wood is a bad conductor of heat, and—if you have wood all about you and—over you, why, the fire can't burn you."
"Oh!" said Alice.
"We'll go over to this door as far from the passageway as we can get. Now bring me logs from that side pile! That's right!"
He glanced at the old barricade and saw, with a shudder, that it was already pierced with countless open cracks that showed the angry fire beyond. And through these cracks great volumes of smoke were pouring.
Fortunately, most of this smoke, especially at first, was borne away upward by the blower's suction, and for some minutes Alice was able to help Coquenil with the new barricade. They built this directly in front of the iron door, with only space enough between it and the door to allow them to crouch behind it; they made it about five feet long and three feet high. Coquenil would have made it higher, but there was no time; indeed, he had to do the last part of the work alone, for Alice sank back overcome by the smoke.
"Lie down there," he directed. "Stretch right out behind the logs and keep, your mouth close to the floor and as near as you can to the crack under the door. You'll have plenty of cool, sweet air. See? That's right. Now I'll fix a roof over this thing and pretty soon, if it gets uncomfortable up here, I'll crawl in beside you. It's better not to look at the silly old barricade. Just shut your eyes and—rest. Understand little friend?"
"Ye-es," she murmured faintly, and with sinking heart, he realized that already she was drifting toward unconsciousness. Ah, well, perhaps that was the best thing!
He looked down at the fair young face and thought of her lover languishing in prison. What a wretched fate theirs had been! What sufferings they had borne! What injustice! And now this end to their dream of happiness!
He turned to his work. He would guard her while life and strength remained, and he wondered idly, as he braced the overhead logs against the iron door, how many more minutes of life this shelter would give them. Why take so much pains for so paltry a result?