“Against them?” said Milona. “Can you hope to do such a thing? It would be impossible to resist them. They are all waiting below, in the dining-room, ready for anything!”
“Oh! Mon Dieu! How mad I am! Do I not know them? Oh! Marcel, why did you place yourself at their mercy?”
Flinging her poniard on to the ground, she sat down, overcome with emotion, buried her head in her hands, and burst into tears. Marcel, turning to the Dalmatian, asked, in calm accents—
“Tell me, in a word, what it is they want from me?”
Milona cast a questioning glance at her mistress. As Sophia made no sign, the servant explained—
“They want the famous secret, which will give value to the powder they stole from you!”
Marcel smiled, and then frowned in disdain.
“Ah! that is what is puzzling them. I am glad to know that they have not succeeded in discovering what they were so interested in knowing. Milona, you may tell them that they will never learn it from me!”
“We shall see about that before long!” exclaimed Agostini, passionately, from behind the door.
“Ah! you are listening, you villain?” said Marcel, in vibrating tones. “I am very pleased to know it, for such a procedure simplifies things considerably! Tell your acolytes that I am not afraid of them; I have in my hand a revolver which will answer for the lives of six men. If they like, I will open the door, and the dance shall begin.”