The thought of Dolores grew stronger.
"Two."
I could almost hear St. Nivel's voice urging me to give it up.
"Three."
Then there was my promise to the old lady, murdered, I believed, by these infamous ruffians. I hesitated.
"Four."
"Five."
"Six."
Then came another thought: would the old lady, who had been spoken of as the Baroness d'Altenberg, hold me to my word under the circumstances?
"Seven."