“You’re mad!” cried Bregeac, aghast. “There’s nothing of the kind! For my part, I fear nothing!”
In spite of his denials, he went out of the room, dragging Aurelie with him on to the landing. It was she who at the last moment resisted.
“But no. What use would it be? We shall be [[197]]saved—he will come—he will escape. Why not wait for him?”
“One does not escape from Headquarters,” snarled Bregeac.
“You think not? Oh, how horrible all this is!”
She did not know what to do. Terrible ideas whirled through her mind, weakened by her illness—fear of Marescal and of immediate arrest—and the police who were going to seize her and twist her wrists.
The terror of her step-father decided her. Carried away by the fury of the storm, she ran to her room and reappeared at once with a suit-case in her hand. Bregeac was also ready. They had the air of two criminals who had nothing else to look at except a desperate flight. They went down the staircase and crossed the hall.
At that very moment the bell rang.
“Too late,” whispered Bregeac.
“No,” she said, encouraged by a sudden hope. “Perhaps he has come. He has come and is going to take me away.”