Juliette went to see, and returned dejected and terrified. She had distinguished heavy foot-steps on the landing, made by some one endeavouring to walk softly.
“There must be some way of escape!” she cried fiercely.
“Yes,” replied Noel, “one way. I have given my word. They are picking the lock. Fasten all the doors, and let them break them down; it will give me time.”
Juliette and Charlotte ran to carry out his directions. Then Noel, leaning against the mantel piece, seized his revolver and pointed it at his breast.
But Juliette, who had returned, perceiving the movement, threw herself upon her lover, but so violently that the revolver turned aside and went off. The shot took effect, the bullet entering Noel’s stomach. He uttered a frightful cry.
Juliette had made his death a terrible punishment; she had prolonged his agony.
He staggered, but remained standing, supporting himself by the mantel piece, while the blood flowed copiously from his wound.
Juliette clung to him, trying to wrest the revolver from his grasp.
“You shall not kill yourself,” she cried, “I will not let you. You are mine; I love you! Let them come. What can they do to you? If they put you in prison, you can escape. I will help you, we will bribe the jailors. Ah, we will live so happily together, no matter where, far away in America where no one knows us!”
The outer door had yielded; the police were now picking the lock of the door of the ante-chamber.