"It is no question of mercy, but of necessity. You are not fit to be here. This is no place for tears. Leave the house, I say. When you are wanted you shall be sent for."
"Madame----"
"Go," said Mrs. Arne, sharply. "Have I to speak twice?"
Trall's head dropped on his breast in utter despair, and, without a word, he slouched through the throng and up the trapdoor. As he went out, he passed Rouge about to descend. Rouge was alone, grave, colourless, composed. As he dropped down, the Brotherhood saluted him with a volley of applause.
"Where is the prisoner?" called out Madame from the daïs.
"He will be brought down by me shortly, Madame," said Rouge; "but I have come to make a communication to the society. First, I must make all safe."
So saying, he removed the ladder, and laid it flat on the ground. Then he took up his position in the corner directly under the trapdoor, and leaned lightly against the wall. To right and left the crowd parted, so that Madame and Drabble saw him as down a long lane. A lantern overhead shed a heavy yellow light on his pallid face, and he looked as a ghost in the shadows. The Brotherhood was uneasy, not at his action, for he was a much trusted member, but on account of his reference to making all safe. Even Mrs. Arne seemed anxious.
"Rouge," she cried, "what is the matter?"
"I propose to tell you, Madame," he replied in a loud, clear voice. "Listen, all of you, to what I say. You know me as Rouge, the trusted brother of the society. Five years ago in Paris I was known as Emile Durand."
They looked at one another. Madame, with a premonition that something was wrong, half rose from her chair, and Drabble leaned forward anxiously. In dead silence every one hung upon the speech of Rouge. He spoke in French, the tongue best understood of the greatest number.