"Well, we will manage somehow."
He pointed to the wicket in the door:
"Do you see that wicket?" he said. "They open it each time. They will see us through the grating."
"There's a shutter to it. Let's close it."
"They will come in."
"Then we won't close it and we'll keep up our confidence, Stéphane."
"I'm frightened for you, not for myself."
"You mustn't be frightened either for me or for yourself . . . . If the worst comes to the worst, we are able to defend ourselves," she added, showing him a revolver which she had taken from her father's rack of arms and carried on her ever since.
"Ah," he said, "what I fear is that we shall not even be called upon to defend ourselves! They have other means."
"What means?"