It came from the woman, Clemence. Then she spoke, while as she did so her great eyes gleamed and sparkled in so wild a manner that he imagined she had now become entirely demented.
"There is a way out," she said, "but none know it except he. Not even I--though often enough I tried to learn it from his father; have even in later days tried to make him tell it to me. Yet neither ever would! The wolves of Lorraine have expected to-night's work for generations--they have kept the secret to themselves."
"'Sdeath!" exclaimed Andrew, though the oath he used was stronger than this, "but he shall share his secret with us to-night. Where he goes forth we three go also--or he goes not at all. Quick, let us get near and stay near him. Ha! see, he comes this way. Mounts the stairs. Observe--stand by. We must keep him in sight."
It was as he had said. De Bois-Vallée was creeping up the stairs now--they could see a dark form against the balustrades coming up and up and up--once the dying embers of the fire in the hall below flickered into a fresh blaze--they could see, too, that he had discarded his pistols and carried in his hand his bare sword. Even saw the steel scintillating now and again in the faint glow sent up while he mounted.
Watching him coming towards them and, for certain, never dreaming of whom he would encounter above, it seemed to those three as though some hunted wild beast was fleeing for its life. Crawling up with one hand on the balustrade, the other grasping his weapon, they observed his bright red hair--for he was wigless--as he mounted. Watched, and saw also the terror-stricken glances he flung over his shoulder as, reaching the first landing, he knew that he could be seen over the top of the shattered door by those who might be standing in, or near, the doorway.
And that he was seen they learnt at once; there came two spits of flame from firelocks discharged outside, and, through the rent space, the sharp crack of the weapons; then, next, the splinters flying from two of the balustrade posts. And they saw the savage grin of hate and fury on his face--saw his white teeth gleam like a hunted wolf's, as he, himself the Wolf of Lorraine, ran round the landing and began to mount the next flight. The flight that would bring him to where they were!
From outside, too, they could hear the shouts of the avengers; hear harsh calls and cries in both the French and German tongues, derisive laughter, voices that called out, "the wolf is trapped! He can never escape! Fire not at him, let him find death in his own house of evil!" while, above all, the soft, silvery voice of a boy sang the strain, "Lorraine, Lorraine, ma douce patrie."
He turned once more--his foot on the first stair, a look of horror in his eyes as that sweet voice arose, turned and glared back again to the ruined door whence the sound entered. It almost seemed to those so close above him as though they heard him groan.
"Kill him," Clemence hissed in Andrew's ear. "Dead!"
Then, even as she spoke, the man fleeing from below sprang up the stairs that led to where they were, and so came full upon them.