"Yes, there is."
He pointed to a little door opening on a dark recess. In the shadow, he saw the first treads of a staircase as steep as a ladder.
"Please, my dear count," he said to Waldemar, who wanted to go up, "let me have the honor."
"Why?"
"There's danger."
He ran up and at once sprang into a low and narrow loft. A cry escaped him:
"Oh!"
"What is it?" asked the count, emerging in his turn.
"Here . . . on the floor. . . . Isilda. . . ."
He knelt down beside the girl, but, at the first glance, saw that she was simply stunned and that she bore no trace of a wound, except a few scratches on the wrists and hands. A handkerchief was stuffed into her mouth by way of a gag.