"It is the one chance," answered Hugues loudly, fawning on La Mothe with a hand which aped persuasion. The words had a double meaning and held La Follette quiet, La Follette who might have ruined all through incomprehension. "You know the bench where Mademoiselle sits to watch the play? When I cry Now! rush up and fling it across the gap of the stair-head. It will hold them back for a time. Then, for God's sake, Monsieur La Mothe, fight, fight, fight. Fight to the last. It is for life, it is for France, it is for Mademoiselle."
"And you?"
"I will hold the door."
"But that is death."
"It will give you a minute, or two, or three."
"Then it is my place; I have a sword."
"I love him best," answered Hugues. To him was the one unanswerable argument; he loved him best, and love had the right to die for love's sake. "You understand? When I cry Now! run—run."
"Hugues, Hugues, let me——"
"Do you think a valet cannot love?"
"It is time," said a voice from without. "Are you ready, rats?"