CHAPTER X
THE ESCAPE
Shuddering, uncertain how to act next, Véronique listened till she no longer heard the sound of his footsteps. What should she do? The murder of Stéphane had for a moment turned her thoughts from François; but she now once more fell a prey to anguish. What had become of her son? Should she go to him at the Priory and defend him against the dangers that threatened him?
"Come, come," she said, "I'm losing my head . . . . Let me think things out . . . . A few hours ago, François was speaking to me through the wall of his prison . . . for it was certainly he then, it was certainly François who yesterday took my hand and covered it with his kisses . . . . A mother cannot be deceived; and I was quivering with love and tenderness . . . . But since . . . since this morning has he not left his prison?"
She stopped to think and then said, slowly:
"That's it . . . that's what happened . . . . Stéphane and I were discovered below, on the floor underneath. The alarm was given at once. The monster, Vorski's son, had gone up expressly to watch François. He found the cell empty and, seeing the opening which had been made, crawled out here. Yes, that's it . . . . If not, by what way did he come? . . . When he got here, it occurred to him to run to the window, knowing that it overlooked the sea and suspecting that François had chosen it to make his escape. He at once saw the hooks of the ladder. Then, on leaning over, he saw me, knew who I was and called out to me . . . . And now . . . now he is on his way to the Priory, where he is bound to meet François . . . ."
Nevertheless Véronique did not stir. She had an instinct that the danger lay not at the Priory but here, by the cells. And she wondered whether François had really succeeded in escaping and whether, before his task was done, he had not been surprised by the other and attacked by him.
It was a horrible doubt! She stooped quickly and, perceiving that the hole had been widened, tried to pass through it herself. But the outlet, at most large enough for a child, was too narrow for her; and her shoulders became fixed. She persisted in the attempt, however, tearing her bodice and bruising her skin against the rock, and at last, by dint of patience and wriggling, succeeded in slipping through.
The cell was empty. But the door was open on the passages facing her; and Véronique had an impression—merely an impression, for the window admitted only a faint light—that some one was just leaving the cell through the open door. And from this confused impression of something that she had not absolutely seen she retained the certainty that it was a woman who was hiding there, in the passage, a woman surprised by her unexpected entrance.
"It's their accomplice," thought Véronique. "She came up with the boy who killed Stéphane, and she has no doubt taken François away . . . . Perhaps François is even there still, quite near me, while she's watching me . . . ."
Meanwhile Véronique's eyes were growing accustomed to the semidarkness and she distinctly saw a woman's hand upon the door, which opened inwardly. The hand was slowly pulling.