"What are you going to do?"
"None of your business! Hand it here."
The woman poured out something that looked like wine, and dropped a spoonful between the girl's lips. She had so much difficulty in doing so, that Robeccal took a knife from his pocket, and inserted it between Francine's close shut teeth. As soon as the liquid disappeared down the girl's throat she started.
"You are not poisoning her?" asked Robeccal.
"Am I a fool? Hark! I hear a carriage. Take this girl up-stairs."
Robeccal snatched Francine from the sofa, and ran lightly up the stairs.
The room above was elegantly furnished, and had long windows looking out upon the garden, which seemed to stretch out indefinitely. In reality it ended at no very great distance in a wall sixteen feet in height.
As Robeccal laid the girl on the bed, he looked at her again with some anxiety. She was absolutely motionless.
There came a knock at the door. Robeccal started.