"They will be in before we can reach it," muttered Count Jéhan. "Already——"
A crash completed the sentence.
But they were running now, all together.
"This way—this way, Messieurs," sobbed their guide, and tore aside a curtain.
A panel in the wall slipped back easily enough—one did not allow hinges to rust in the Brittany of those days—and soon they were groping their way down a dark, narrow passage.
Morice's heart beat fast. He was returning to Kérnak without shame. Even failure could not keep him from exulting over that thought.
He would be able to look little Cécile in the eyes,—to take her brother's hand.
Above them rose shouts and cries. The mob was searching the Manor. Afterwards they would swarm out again into the gardens—the stables.
At present they were occupied.
Click. Click.