"I shan't answer. Besides, once we are outside the grounds, I shall have nothing to fear from him."
"And what am I to do?"
"You? Bind your prisoner carefully and lock him up in some safe place. Then go back to the shrubbery beyond the window with the balcony. I hope to join you there with Élisabeth some time during the middle of the night; and we shall simply have to go back by the tunnel. If by accident you don't see me return . . ."
"Well?"
"Well, then go back alone before it gets light."
"But . . ."
Paul was already moving away. He was in the mood in which a man refuses to consider the actions which he has decided to perform. Moreover, the event seemed to prove that he was right. Karl received him with abusive language, but without paying the least attention to this supernumerary for whom he could not show enough contempt. The spy put on his fur-coat, sat down at the wheel and began to handle the levers while Paul took his seat beside him.
The car was starting, when a voice from the doorstep called, in a tone of command:
"Karl! Stop!"
Paul felt a moment's anxiety. It was the Comtesse Hermine. She went up to the spy and, lowering her voice, said, in French: