"You must die!"
"Die!" cried the girl, turning with an imploring glance to him who was threatening her life. "O mon Dieu! you intend to kill me! What have I done? how have I deserved death? have I not obeyed you without a murmur ever since I have been with you?"
"Yes, yes! you do not deserve such a horrible fate, I know; far from hating you, I had for you a feeling—I do not know how to describe it—but my hatred for the baron is stronger than every other sentiment! I have sworn that you should not fall into his hands again alive. I will keep my oath.—Do you hear them? They are besieging this place; soon they will break down the door, which is not strong; that miserable dog will show them the way to this last hiding-place. They mean to save you, to take you away from here! They shall not find you alive! Isaure, you must die before they find their way here!"
Beside herself, desperate, Isaure tried once more to move her assassin; she threw herself at his feet; but in his frenzy, he was no longer himself; in his right hand he held the sword; with the other he bared the girl’s breast, the more surely to pierce her heart. Isaure struggled; she tried to escape; and he, detaining her by main strength, tore aside the garment that covered her breast. The locket which the girl wore hidden there arrested the sword that was about to take her life; the portrait caught the eye of the assassin; he uttered a cry of surprise, of horror.
"Can I believe my eyes?" he exclaimed; "that portrait! that woman! Where did you get it? Speak! speak!"
"It is my mother’s portrait!" cried Isaure, holding her clasped hands toward him; "she was most unhappy too, they say; oh! in heaven’s name, have mercy on her daughter!"
"Your mother! Adèle! Adèle was your mother? What thought is this? Can it be that you are——"
He did not finish the sentence; his sword fell from his hands; he was like a man struck by lightning. But soon they heard a loud crash; the door of the hut had been broken in. While the baron and Edouard entered the room below, Alfred, assisted by Vaillant, and striking the wall on all sides with the sword he had brought under his cloak, succeeded in discovering the entrance to the excavation. He rushed through the passage and entered the second hut, sword in hand, at the moment that Isaure, overcome by terror, fell unconscious at the vagabond’s feet.
"Villain!" cried Alfred, "so I was not mistaken: it was you who abducted her! You shall pay for your infamous conduct with your life!"
"Isaure belongs to me!" replied the vagabond, seizing his sword once more; "no one has a stronger claim to her than I have!"