“That’s all right,” he said with a sigh of relief; then: “Wait a moment! Listen!”
They heard the sound of feet coming along the platform; he recognized the voice of Marescal.
“Not a movement!” he said in low, imperative accents. “They’re coming sooner than I expected. Lie still.”
“Oh! I’m frightened!” the girl muttered. “It seems to me that that voice—Oh, dear! Can it be possible?”
“Yes,” he muttered. “It’s the voice of your enemy, Marescal. But you mustn’t be frightened. Don’t you remember this afternoon, on the Boulevard, that a man interposed between you and him. It was me. I beg you not to be frightened.” [[52]]
“But he’ll come in here,” she quavered.
“We don’t know that.”
“But if he does come in?”
“Pretend to be asleep, or to have fainted. Bury your head between your crossed arms. Don’t stir,” he urged.
“But if he tries to get a look at me. Suppose he recognizes me?” she muttered in a harried tone.