Now came another summons from de Souza.
“Listen!” he called; “the house is surrounded and you cannot escape us. Therefore it will be well for you to surrender and rely upon the Emperor’s mercy.”
“I fear we may not rely on that with any security,” drawled Paola, who had approached the door. “Pray tell us, my good de Souza, what are your orders respecting us?”
“To arrest you at all hazards,” returned the captain, sternly.
“And then?” persisted the Minister, leaning against the door and leisurely puffing his cigarette.
But another voice was now heard—Valcour’s—crying:
“Open at once, or we will batter down the door.”
Before any could reply Mazanovitch pushed Paola aside and placed his lips to the keyhole.
“Hear me, Valcour,” he said, in a soft yet penetrating tone, “we are able to defend ourselves until assistance arrives. But rather than that blood should be shed without necessity, we will surrender ourselves if we have your assurance of safe convoy to Rio.”
For a moment there was silence. Then, “How came you here?” demanded the spy, in accents that betrayed his agitation.