“I am here,” he replied. “Have no fear: they can’t separate us.”
“You are right,” she panted, “they can’t separate us. We are in our grave.”
The word was so terrible and Coralie uttered it so mournfully that a reaction overtook Patrice.
“No! What are you talking about?” he exclaimed. “We must not despair. There is hope of safety until the last moment.”
Releasing one of his hands, he took aim with his revolver. A few faint rays trickled through the chinks around the skylight. He fired three times. They heard the crack of the wood-work and the chuckle of the enemy. But the shutter must have been lined with metal, for no split appeared.
Besides, the chinks were forthwith stopped up; and they became aware that the enemy was engaged in the same work that he had performed around the doors and windows. It was obviously very thorough and took a long time in the doing. Next came another work, completing the first. The enemy was nailing the shutter to the frame of the skylight.
It was an awful sound! Swift and light as were the taps of the hammer, they seemed to drive deep into the brain of those who heard them. It was their coffin that was being nailed down, their great coffin with a lid hermetically sealed that now bore heavy upon them. There was no hope left, not a possible chance of escape. Each tap of the hammer strengthened their dark prison, making yet more impregnable the walls that stood between them and the outer world and bade defiance to the most resolute assault:
“Patrice,” stammered Coralie, “I’m frightened . . . That tapping hurts me so!” . . .
She sank back in his arms. Patrice felt tears coursing down her cheeks.
Meanwhile the work overhead was being completed. They underwent the terrible experience which condemned men must feel on the morning of their last day, when from their cells they hear the preparations: the engine of death that is being set up, or the electric batteries that are being tested. They hear men striving to have everything ready, so that not one propitious chance may remain and so that destiny may be fulfilled. Death had entered the enemy’s service and was working hand in hand with him. He was death itself, acting, contriving and fighting against those whom he had resolved to destroy.