“But where?”
“Well, of course, where all the fighting has been . . . where the gold lies. All the enemy’s operations are centered in that gold; and you may be sure that, even in retreat, he can’t get away from it. Besides, we know that he is not far from Berthou’s Wharf.”
Patrice allowed himself to be led along without a word. But suddenly Don Luis cried:
“Did you hear?”
“Yes, a shot.”
At that moment they were on the point of turning into the Rue Raynouard. The height of the houses prevented them from perceiving the exact spot from which the shot had been fired, but it came approximately from the Essarès house or the immediate precincts. Patrice was filled with alarm:
“I’m afraid so,” said Don Luis, “and, as Ya-Bon wouldn’t fire, some one must have fired a shot at him. . . . Oh, by Jove, if my poor Ya-Bon were to be killed . . . !”
“And suppose it was at her, at Coralie?” whispered Patrice.
Don Luis began to laugh: