“Open! Open!” exclaimed several voices behind the door.
Sophia found sufficient strength to say—
“Open now, Milona!”
The Dalmatian obeyed. A veil came over Sophia’s eyes, her cheeks turned deadly pale. Milona, terrified, fell to the ground, her dark, dishevelled hair falling round her face like a funeral veil.
“Where is the woman?” shouted M. Mayeur from the staircase, as he came on the scene, panting and triumphant. “She has not been allowed to escape, I hope!”
He appeared, accompanied by Graff, and stood, as though petrified, on the threshold.
Marcel, pointing to Sophia, who had just breathed her last, said—
“Here she is!”
The Ténébreuse, ever elusive, had this time taken refuge in the darkness of eternal night.