“Vincent,” she murmured, “in the name of Heaven spare us the harrowing agony to have you in prison.”
Obstinately he remained silent. His daughter, Mlle. Gilberte, dropped upon her knees before him, and, joining her hands:
“I beseech you, father,” she begged.
He shuddered all over. An unspeakable expression of suffering and anguish contracted his features; and, speaking in a scarcely intelligible voice:
“Ah! you are cruelly protracting my agony,” he stammered. “What do you ask of me?”
“You must fly,” declared M. Desclavettes.
“Which way? How? Do you not think that every precaution has been taken, that every issue is closely watched?”
Maxence interrupted him with a gesture:
“The windows in sister’s room, father,” said he, “open upon the courtyard of the adjoining house.”
“Yes; but here we are up two pairs of stairs.”
“No matter: I have a way.”
And turning towards his sister:
“Come, Gilberte,” went on the young man, “give me a light, and let me have some sheets.”
They went out hurriedly. Mme. Favoral felt a gleam of hope.
“We are saved!” she said.
“Saved!” repeated the cashier mechanically. “Yes; for I guess Maxence’s idea. But we must have an understanding. Where will you take refuge?”
“How can I tell?”
“There is a train at five minutes past eleven,” remarked M. Desormeaux. “Don’t let us forget that.”
“But money will be required to leave by that train,” interrupted the old lawyer. “Fortunately, I have some.”
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