this? Where is he?” And his bloodshot eyes—it was Tuez-les-Moines—questioned the doors, while his hand, trembling and shaking on the haft of his knife, bespoke his eagerness. “Where is he? Where is he, woman? Quick, or”
“I shall not tell you,” she answered.
“You lie,” he cried, grinning like a dog. “You will tell us! Or we will kill you too! Where is he? Where is he?”
“I shall not tell you,” she repeated, standing before him in the fearlessness of scorn. “Another step and I rouse the house! M. de Tignonville, to you who know me, I swear that if this man does not retire”
“He is in one of these rooms?” was Tignonville’s answer. “In which? In which?”
“Search them!” she answered, her voice low, but biting in its contempt. “Try them. Rouse my women, alarm the house! And when you have his people at your throats—five as they will be to one of you—thank your own mad folly!”
Tuez-les-Moines’ eyes glittered. “You will not tell us?” he cried.
“No!”
“Then”
But as the fanatic sprang on her, La Tribe flung his arms round him and dragged him back.
“It would be madness,” he cried. “Are you mad, fool? Have done!” he panted, struggling with him. “If Madame gives the alarm—and he may be in any one of these four rooms, you cannot be sure which—we are undone.” He looked for support to Tignonville, whose movement to protect the girl he had anticipated, and who had since listened sullenly. “We have obtained what we need. Will you requite Madame, who has gained it for us at her own risk”
