She would never get down in safety—an old and hastily knotted rope, a disregard of all ordinary precautions, and her body in the hands of men who handled human lives more carelessly than most people would handle stones. He bit his lip till the blood ran down to his chin.
Here he stood doing nothing, he who would have been tortured to save her!
The window was shut and one of the men said: "She's down all right after all. I thought by the look of her she would have fainted. She has some pluck, Mademoiselle Fatalité!"
"Yes," answered Sobrenski. "Here's the coward and traitor."
Vardri wheeled round, looking straight into the cold eyes of his leader. He had heard the last words. She was safe, that was all that mattered, and for himself he was reckless.
"Traitor, am I? Yes, if the Cause is to include the ill-treatment of women!"
"Women? Again women? Are our meetings to be used as love trysts. There was a certain episode two years ago—Gaston de Barrés and Félise Rivaz—you remember it? Ah, I thought so! Then let it be a warning—in the future you will be suspected and watched. There is no need for me to dilate upon the punishment for treachery, all that you knew when you joined us. You may consider yourself lucky to have escaped so easily to-night. Through the few minutes' delay you have caused, Poleski may have been arrested."
Vardri shrugged and sat down. Like Arithelli, he recognized the futility of mere words upon certain occasions.
Moreover, now that the flame of his indignation had died down, he had begun to feel wretchedly ill and spiritless with the reaction that comes after any great excitement.
He sat shivering and coughing till the dawn, while the other men talked in low voices or played cards. One or two slept fitfully in uncomfortable attitudes on the floor.