The men hesitated, looking one to another; and one boy, more bold than the rest, jumped forward and cried, “Never! you dirty scoundrel!” And he dashed across the floor towards Melun.
Melun let him come on, and it said something for the coolness of the man that he did not even fire, but waited till the lad was upon him. Then he swung round, and catching him on the back of the ear with the butt of his pistol, sent him sprawling senseless to the floor.
After that there was no demonstration of any kind. With almost feverish haste the women began plucking the jewels from their hair and from their bosoms, from their wrists and from their necks. Trembling, they handed them to the men standing in a row before them.
One by one bracelets and necklets and tiaras were tossed on to the floor at Melun's feet until there slowly grew a glittering pile of jewels.
And then it became obvious that Melun had provided against every contingency and had counted on complete success.
For at a word from him one of the masked men came forward with a rough sack, into which he threw the jewels with as much care as he might have bestowed upon a heap of coals.
When the fellow had gathered them all up Melun made a little bow of mockery.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I have to thank you for your hospitality and for your generosity. With your kind permission I will now withdraw.”
Suddenly a bold, clear, full voice spoke from the little gallery in which the musicians sat cowering.