Benedetto jumped off, but did not throw a look at the dying horse; he only thought of himself and his safety. He thought Anselmo had fallen into the hands of the people at Oliolles. That his companion would not betray him he knew, but the coachman had seen him and he would be pursued. There was no way out of it. He must get possession of the million, and then try to reach the coast.
Benedetto recognized the vicarage at the first glance, as his mother had described it accurately to him. An olive-tree stood inside the wall near the entrance. Benedetto took between his teeth the knife Anselmo had given him, and swung himself over the wall and thence on to the window-sill. The wretch hesitated a moment before he broke the pane. Suppose his mother uttered a cry.
"Ah, bah," he thought, "it will be her own fault."
With a quick movement he broke the glass.
Taking out a small thieves'-lantern and some matches, which Anselmo had also given him, he struck a light and looked around. The bed was empty.
"The mistral delayed her," muttered Benedetto; "I must be quick."
Hastily plunging his knife into the closet, he opened the door, and was soon in possession of the portfolio. He put it on the table and tried to open the lock with his knife. But in vain; it would not open.
At this moment his sharp ear detected the sound of horses' hoofs.
"The pursuers," he muttered, and for a moment he was dazed.