“Henri,” said his companion to him, “we are betrayed.”
“By whom, my good Ferragus?”
“They are not all asleep,” replied the chief of the Devourers; “it is absolutely certain that some one in the house has neither eaten nor drunk.... Look! see that light!”
“We have a plan of the house; from where does it come?”
“I need no plan to know,” replied Ferragus; “it comes from the room of the Marquise.”
“Ah,” cried De Marsay, “no doubt she arrived from London to-day. The woman has robbed me even of my revenge! But if she has anticipated me, my good Gratien, we will give her up to the law.”
“Listen, listen!... The thing is settled,” said Ferragus to Henri.
The two friends listened intently, and heard some feeble cries which might have aroused pity in the breast of a tiger.
“Your marquise did not think the sound would escape by the chimney,” said the chief of the Devourers, with the laugh of a critic, enchanted to detect a fault in a work of merit.
“We alone, we know how to provide for every contingency,” said Henri. “Wait for me. I want to see what is going on upstairs—I want to know how their domestic quarrels are managed. By God! I believe she is roasting her at a slow fire.”