"Who is down there?"
This time Van Zandt answered:
"Two prisoners—Eliot Van Zandt and a lady. We are starving, dying! For God's sake, cut a hole quickly through the floor, and come to our aid!"
"Ay, ay!" said a hearty voice that belonged to none other than Pierre Carmontelle; and then the iron will that had sustained Van Zandt through those four dreadful days gave way, and he fell in a heavy swoon to the floor.
Marie could only moan helplessly:
"Hurry, hurry! he has fallen down. I fear he is dead!"
With all the haste that several eager men could make, it was almost half an hour before a square opening appeared in the ceiling large enough to admit a man's body. Then a faint light streamed into the dark underground chamber, fairly dazzling Marie's weak eyes.
Several eager pairs of eyes looked down, but they could detect nothing yet, so intense was the gloom below.
"It is dark as Erebus," said a voice—Markham's, Marie thought. "Van Zandt, where are you?"
Marie answered, with a sob: