Dorothy did not turn round. She was a prisoner.
"I made no mistake," she thought. "They are the masters of the field of battle. But what has become of the others?"
On her right opened the entrance to the staircase which ascended the tower. Perhaps she might have fled up it and availed herself once more of the rope-ladder? But what use would it be? Did not the kidnaping of Montfaucon oblige her to fight to the end, in spite of the hopelessness of the conflict? She must throw herself into the arena, among the ferocious beasts.
She went on. Though alone and without friends, she found herself quite cool. As she went, she let the little ball of paper roll down her skirt. It rolled along the floor and was lost among the pebbles and dust which covered it.
As she came to the end of the vault, two arms shot out and two men covered her with their revolvers.
"Don't move!"
She shrugged her shoulders.
One of them repeated harshly:
"Don't move, or I shoot."
She looked at them. They were two subordinates, poisonous-looking rogues, dressed as sailors. She thought she recognized in them the two individuals who had accompanied d'Estreicher to the Manor. She said to them: