"It's the rum," Conrad replied. "But all the same he's foretelling terrible things."
"Things which prowl round us," shouted Vorski, whose ears noticed the least sound, "things which make part of the present moment and have been bequeathed to us by the pageant of the centuries. It's like a prodigious childbirth. And I tell the two of you, you will be the amazed witnesses of these things! Otto and Conrad, be prepared as I am: the earth will shake; and, at the very spot where Vorski is to win the God-Stone, a column of fire will rise up to the sky."
"He doesn't know what he's saying," mumbled Conrad.
"And there he is on the ladder again," whispered Otto. "It'll serve him right if he gets an arrow through him."
But Vorski's exaltation knew no bounds. The end was at hand. Extenuated by pain, the victim was in her death-agony.
Beginning very low, so as to be heard by none save her, but raising his voice gradually, Vorski said:
"Véronique . . . . Véronique . . . . You are fulfilling your mission . . . . You are nearing the top of the ascent . . . . All honour to you! You deserve a share in my triumph . . . . All honour to you! Listen! You hear it already, don't you? The artillery of the heavens is drawing near. My enemies are vanquished; you can no longer hope for rescue! Here is the last beat of your heart . . . . Here is your last cry: 'Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani? My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?'"
He screamed with laughter, like a man laughing at the most riotous adventure. Then came silence. The roars of thunder ceased. Vorski bent forward and suddenly, from the top of the ladder, shouted:
"Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani! The gods have forsaken her. Death has done its work. The last of the four women is dead. Véronique is dead!"
He was silent once again and then roared twice over: