"The way for all--not you alone?" and Andrew's voice sounded sinister and threatening to the other.
"Ay, for all."
Even as he spoke there came an increased din from below, and, though none spoke to the other, all knew, or imagined, what had happened.
The door was down--the besiegers in the house!
Soon--who could doubt it?--what else was there for those men of vengeance to do?--it would be in flames! Nothing could save it!
Or only one thing. The yielding up of De Bois-Vallée to their ire.
"Stop," he said, addressing him, "stop. You know what will, what must, happen next. It can be but one thing, the destruction of your house. Retrace your steps if you choose, defend the house singly if you desire--since I do believe that they come partly to rescue me, expect from me no help--give yourself up to them. Thereby the flames may be avoided. And--and--I grant you that respite."
For answer, the other snarled at him--Andrew could plainly see that he did so in the added light which now streamed up from the hall, illuminating all the balconies and corridors.
Then he spoke.
"It may be that they come to save you. Yet there can be few to whom you are known. Therefore, being here, they deem you my friend--or will when they see you."