In a low voice, anxious-eyed, she asked:
“You did it on purpose, did you not? You only went away to drag me with you?”
“Yes,” he said.
“But why? Why?”
“Do you mean to say that you don’t know?” retorted Daubrecq, laughing with a little cluck of delight.
She half-rose from her chair and, bending toward him, thought, as she thought each time, of the murder which she could commit, of the murder which she would commit. One revolver-shot and the odious brute was done for.
Slowly her hand glided to the weapon concealed in her bodice.
Daubrecq said:
“One second, dear friend.... You can shoot presently; but I beg you first to read this wire which I have just received.”
She hesitated, not knowing what trap he was laying for her; but he went on, as he produced a telegram: