His sobs interrupted him. Just then a faint moan was heard.
Marie-Anne was regaining consciousness. Already she had partially risen from the sofa, and sat regarding this terrible scene with an air of profound wonder, as if she did not understand it in the least.
Slowly and gently she put back her hair from her face, and opened and closed her eyes, which seemed dazzled by the light of the candles.
She endeavored to speak, to ask some question, but Abbe Midon commanded silence by a gesture.
Enlightened by the words of Mme. d’Escorval and by the confession of Maurice, the abbe understood at once the extent of the frightful danger that menaced the baron and his son.
How was this danger to be averted? What must be done?
He had no time for explanation or reflection; with each moment, a chance of salvation fled. He must decide and act without delay.
The abbe was a brave man. He darted to the door, and called the servants who were standing in the hall and on the staircase.
When they were gathered around him:
“Listen to me, intently,” said he, in that quick and imperious voice that impresses one with the certainty of approaching peril, “and remember that your master’s life depends, perhaps, upon your discretion. We can rely upon you, can we not?”