"Put it off?" he protested. "That's a step I won't take. That is a formality which admits of no delay."
"You will never get back to Périac."
"Why not?"
"Because the band which had been able to get rid under our very eyes of a confederate who was in its way, must have taken precautions, and the road which leads to Périac must be guarded."
"You believe that?... You believe that?" stuttered Maître Delarue.
"I believe it."
She answered in a hesitating fashion. At the moment she was suffering bitterly, being one of those creatures to whom uncertainty is torture. She had a profound impression that an essential element of the truth was lacking. Protected as she was in that tower, with four resolute men beside her, it was not she who directed events. She was under the constraint of the law of the enemy who was oppressing and in a way directing her as his fancy took him.
"But it's terrible," lamented Maître Delarue. "I cannot stay here forever.... My practice demands my attention.... I have a wife ... children."
"Go, Maître Delarue. But first of all hand over to us the envelope of the codicil that I gave back to you. We will open it in your presence."
"Have you the right?"