“To-morrow?” he said. “No. Here and now. One little effort more. At the stage which he has reached, it won’t be difficult.” And, taking the huntsman aside, “Did you hear what he said? What did he mean by that word, ‘Marie’? He repeated it twice.”
“Yes, twice,” said the huntsman. “Perhaps he entrusted the document to a person called Marie.”
“Not he!” protested d’Albufex. “He never entrusts anything to anybody. It means something different.”
“But what, monsieur le marquis?”
“We’ll soon find out, I’ll answer for it.”
At that moment, Daubrecq drew a long breath and stirred on his couch.
D’Albufex, who had now recovered all his composure and who did not take his eyes off the enemy, went up to him and said:
“You see, Daubrecq, it’s madness to resist.... Once you’re beaten, there’s nothing for it but to submit to your conqueror, instead of allowing yourself to be tortured like an idiot.... Come, be sensible.”
He turned to Sébastiani:
“Tighten the rope . . . let him feel it a little that will wake him up.... He’s shamming death....” Sébastiani took hold of the stick again and turned until the cord touched the swollen flesh. Daubrecq gave a start.