Two minutes brought them to the corner. There stood the hack.
Sarah made a motion for Miss Dane to precede her. Mollie stepped in; the girl followed, closing the door securely after her, and the hack started at a furious pace.
"How dark it is!" exclaimed Mollie, impatiently. "You should make your driver light up, Miss Grant."
"There is sufficient light for our work," a voice answered.
Mollie recoiled with a slight shriek, for it was not the voice of Sarah Grant.
A dark figure started out of the corner on the moment, her hands were grasped, and a handkerchief swiftly and surely bound round her mouth. It was no longer in her power to raise an alarm.
"Now bind her eyes, Sarah," said the voice. "I'll secure her hands. My pretty bird, it's of no use struggling. You're safely and surely snared."
Her eyes were bandaged, her hands bound, and Mollie sat utterly helpless and bewildered—a prisoner.
She could neither see, nor move, nor speak. The hack was rattling at a fearful pace over the stony streets. Its noise would have drowned her cries had it been in her power to utter any.
"Now, my dear Miss Dane," said that unknown voice, very close to her ear, and all at once, in French, "I'll answer all the questions I know you are dying to ask at this moment, and answer them truthfully. I speak in French, that the good Sarah beside us may not comprehend. You understand the language, I know."