“I swear it, by my father’s memory.”
“Then take the key and follow me.”
Pale and trembling, Raoul and Mme. Fauvel passed through the banker’s study, and down the narrow staircase leading to the offices and cash-room below.
Raoul walked in front, holding the light, and the key of the safe.
Mme. Fauvel was convinced that it would be utterly impossible to open the safe, as the key was useless without the secret word, and of course Raoul had no way of discovering what that was.
Even granting that some chance had revealed the secret to him, he would find but little in the safe, since everything was deposited in the Bank of France. Everyone knew that no large sum was ever kept in the safe after banking hours.
The only anxiety she felt was, how Raoul would bear the disappointment, and how she could calm his despair.
She thought that she would gain time by letting Raoul try the key; and then, when he could not open the safe, he would keep his promise, and wait until the next day. There was surely no harm in letting him try the lock, when he could not touch the money.
“When he sees there is no chance of success,” she thought, “he will listen to my entreaties; and to-morrow—to-morrow——”
What she could do to-morrow she knew not, she did not even ask herself. But in extreme situations the least delay inspires hope, as if a short respite meant sure salvation.