He took out the warrant and laid it upon the table. Laurence, by the force of her will, had become almost calm.
"You will let me speak five minutes with the Count de Tremorel, will you not?" she asked.
M. Lecoq was delighted; he had looked for this request, and expected it.
"Five minutes? Yes," he replied. "But abandon all hope, Madame, of saving the prisoner; the house is watched; if you look in the court and in the street you will see my men in ambuscade. Besides, I am going to stay here in the next room."
The count was heard ascending the stairs.
"There's Hector!" cried Laurence, "quick, quick! conceal yourselves!"
She added, as they were retiring, in a low tone, but not so low as to prevent the detective from hearing her:
"Be sure, we will not try to escape."
She let the door-curtain drop; it was time. Hector entered. He was paler than death, and his eyes had a fearful, wandering expression.
"We are lost!" said he, "they are pursuing us. See, this letter which I received just now is not from the man whose signature it professes to bear; he told me so himself. Come, let us go, let us leave this house—"