The Conspirators
moonlit lattice by the door was to die. It might keep the rest back for a little time; and—anything might happen in a little time.
He held the gun ready—and heard, leading the others, the rustle of the woman's skirts.
Mam'selle passed across the luminous lattice and came straight toward him. Afterward he wondered if she had really seen him from the first, or in some other way been made acquainted with his hiding place.
For she passed almost directly to the recess—the sole place in the room admitting of even a temporary concealment—put out her hand and touched his face, drew it back without a sound, and turned her back to him.
"The next room, perhaps, messieurs!" she cried breathlessly. "Hasten! Ah, hasten!"
O'Rourke did not stir. He waited patiently—though patience was no virtue; there was no alternative in his case. He waited. Mam'selle had gone on with the others, yet presently he heard—as he had known he would presently hear—the tap-tap of her little slippers and the soft frou-frou of her garments.
She entered through the door by which she had left, stood for an instant looking out through the lattice, drawing her skirts tightly about her with one hand, the other being pressed to her lips, as though she feared to give them play for utterance. Without glancing in»his direction, she whispered hoarsely: "Monsieur!"
"Mam'selle!" he responded, advancing.
"Quick!" she cried. "The next room but one. I will follow. They have gone through to the other wing. For two seconds, only, we are safe."
Without demur the man obeyed.
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