“Follow,” she said. “If you please. Here is my hand.”
In single file we tiptoed across the room and reached the door. I heard the knob turn softly; a rush of hot air streamed over our perspiring faces, we pattered out to a landing from which descended another flight of stairs, and stood breathlessly listening. The night seemed to pant with the heat, the dull heavy noises of life spoke behind closed doors, and far away I heard the tramp of a squad of soldiers off to relieve the guard.
“Come,” said Yvette softly. “It would not do for my friend to find us here, n’est-ce pas? One of you, messieurs, he might mistake for a rival!” I am afraid I laughed as she said this; for McTeague, who usually treated me with great respect, laid his hot moist hand on my mouth. “Hush!” he said. “You mustn’t laugh at her. You mustn’t approve. These people don’t look at these things as we do. They’re unmor——”
A door slammed in the darkness below us, and the scrape of heavy boots echoed from the stair-well! “Mon Dieu!” Yvette whispered. “It is he! It must be he! Here!” She leaped back into the gloom, hustling us with her, and crouched in the farthest corner of the hall. McTeague was first in the line; then I; then the poet; then Guilbert; then Yvette. The heavy tread of the newcomer sounded louder and louder, but no louder than the anguished beating of our hearts. He reached the top of the stair. An odour of lambic or faro scented the fetid air. We could see in the darkness an immense bulk, and Yvette trembled. It was her that he must have heard, for even while his hand was on the knob, he turned.
“Hello, old fellow,” he called jocularly. “What have you got there? Let me see?”
In the vague semi-darkness I saw McTeague scramble slowly to his feet. I thought he would surrender at discretion, but the sound of his voice disillusioned and astonished me. “Go into that room, you villain,” he roared, advancing on the friendly inebriate and bawling fit to wake the dead. “Go in! Go in!”
His voice or his impressive advance frightened Yvette’s friend. The door banged open; there was a short pause; then it slammed shut and I could hear a panting, frightened human mass flung hard against it to keep out the intruder.
“Go away, you dirty Germans!” bawled a muffled voice. “Sales Boches!”
McTeague gripped the handle of the door and tried to turn it, but Yvette—more wise than he—clutched him about the waist and flung him with all her force toward the stair. “Hurry, hurry, we must run!” she sobbed. “Hurry, hurry!” And we charged down the dark well.