"No, I do not believe one word of this tissue of falsehood. For the last time, then, give me the papers, or by the eternal God I will obey the order which my grandfather gave me when I left him,--'Wrest the papers from him, living or--dead!'"
A shiver ran through Raoul's frame. Here it was again,--the strange resemblance. He knew those flashing eyes, that iron tone; he seemed to see his grandfather's self before him pronouncing upon him sentence of death.
"Fulfil your orders, then!" he said, dully; "and then you will know that the dead did not lie."
There was something in this dull submission that had a more powerful effect than could have been produced by the most passionate asseverations. Michael was impressed by it. He knew that Raoul possessed sufficient physical courage to defend to the death what he did not choose to resign, had it been in his possession; and, stepping up close to him, he laid his hand upon his arm.
"Count Raoul Steinrück, in the name of the man from whom we both are sprung I demand of you the truth. The papers upon which the safety of our army depends are not in your possession?"
"No!" said Raoul, firmly; and once more his down cast eyes were lifted to meet his questioner's gaze.
"And Clermont has them?"
"Doubtless they are in his hands."
"Then I am losing time here; he must be pursued and overtaken. The train that brought me here leaves in half an hour. I must go to the station."
He turned to go, but the young Count detained him. "Take me with you! Give me a place in the military train. Our paths are the same----"