"Ah, mon Dieu!" gasped Tournicquot. And the thudding of his heart seemed to resound through the deserted house.
Humanity impelled him to rescue the poor wretch, if it was still to be done. Shuddering, he whipped out his knife, and sawed at the cord desperately. The cord was stout, and the blade of the knife but small; an eternity seemed to pass while he sawed in the darkness. Presently one of the strands gave way. He set his teeth and pressed harder, and harder yet. Suddenly the rope yielded and the body fell to the ground. Tournicquot threw himself beside it, tearing open the collar, and using frantic efforts to restore animation. There was no result. He persevered, but the body lay perfectly inert. He began to reflect that it was his duty to inform the police of the discovery, and he asked himself how he should account for his presence on the scene. Just as he was considering this, he felt the stir of life. As if by a miracle the man groaned.
"Courage, my poor fellow!" panted Tournicquot. "Courage—all is well!"
The man groaned again; and after an appalling silence, during which
Tournicquot began to tremble for his fate anew, asked feebly, "Where am
I?"
"You would have hanged yourself," explained Tournicquot. "Thanks to
Heaven, I arrived in time to save your life!"
In the darkness they could not see each other, but he felt for the man's hand and pressed it warmly. To his consternation, he received, for response, a thump in the chest.
"Morbleu, what an infernal cheek!" croaked the man. "So you have cut me down? You meddlesome idiot, by what right did you poke your nose into my affairs, hein?"
Dismay held Tournicquot dumb.
"Hein?" wheezed the man; "what concern was it of yours, if you please?
Never in my life before have I met with such a piece of presumption!"
"My poor friend," stammered Tournicquot, "you do not know what you say —you are not yourself! By-and-by you will be grateful, you will fall on your knees and bless me."