“Yes,” said Rufus d’Estiers.
“And Clarice?”
“She must be upstairs. We haven’t seen anything of her,” said Rolleville.
“As a matter of fact, she’s a little out of sorts to-day,” said the Baron. “Let’s be getting off.”
D’Ormont and Rolleville took the handles of the stretcher. They crossed the park and then a field to the lane which led from the village to the priest’s staircase. The starless sky was black with heavy clouds; and in the darkness the little procession, practically feeling its way, stumbled over ruts and banks. Curses kept slipping out; the Baron d’Etigues angrily hushed them.
“Will you stop that noise, confound you!” he muttered savagely. “Somebody will recognize our voices!”
“Who will recognize our voices, Godfrey? There’s absolutely nobody about, for you took your precautions with regard to the coast-guards,” de Bennetot protested.
“Yes, they’re safe enough. They’re at the inn, guests of a man I can rely on. Nevertheless it’s just possible that a patrol is making its round.”
There came a depression in the plateau which the road followed. Then it rose again; and they made their way as best they might to the spot at which the staircase rose to the top of the cliff.
It had been hollowed out of the cliff many years before on the suggestion of a priest of Benouville, in order that the country people might descend to the beach. It was lighted by openings cut through the chalk. Through them there were magnificent views of the sea, whose waves were dashing against the rocks below, and into which one seemed to be on the point of plunging.