“No, no, not tonight!”
Edgar’s excitement rose to fever heat. As they came nearer he would be bound to catch everything they said. Each inch closer that they drew was like a physical hurt in his breast, and the baron’s voice, how ugly it seemed, that greedy, grasping disgusting voice.
“Don’t be cruel. You were so lovely this evening.”
“No, no, I mustn’t. I can’t. Let me go!”
There was such alarm in his mother’s voice that the child was terrified. What did the baron want her to do? Why was she afraid?
They were quite close up to him now, apparently right in front of the portière. A foot or two away from them was he, trembling, invisible, with a bit of drapery for his only protection.
Edgar heard his mother give a faint groan as though her powers of resistance were weakening.
But what was that? Edgar could hear that they had passed his mother’s door and had kept on walking down the corridor. Where was he dragging her off to? Why was she not replying any more? Had he stuffed his hand kerchief into her mouth and was he squeezing her throat?
Wild with this thought, Edgar pushed the portière aside and peeped out at the two figures in the dim corridor. The baron had his arm round the woman’s waist and was forcing her along gently, evidently with little resistance from her. He stopped at his own door.
“He wants to drag her in and commit the foul deed,” though the child, and dashing the portière aside he rushed down the hall upon them.