"Five minutes? Yes," he replied. "But abandon all hope, Madame,
of saving the prisoner; the house is watched; if you look in the
court and in the street you will see my men in ambuscade. Besides,
I am going to stay here in the next room."
The count was heard ascending the stairs.
"There's Hector!" cried Laurence, "quick, quick! conceal yourselves!"
She added, as they were retiring, in a low tone, but not so low as
to prevent the detective from hearing her:
"Be sure, we will not try to escape."
She let the door-curtain drop; it was time. Hector entered. He
was paler than death, and his eyes had a fearful, wandering
expression.
"We are lost!" said he, "they are pursuing us. See, this letter
which I received just now is not from the man whose signature it
professes to bear; he told me so himself. Come, let us go, let
us leave this house--"
Laurence overwhelmed him with a look full of hate and contempt,
and said:
"It is too late."
Her countenance and voice were so strange that Tremorel, despite
his distress, was struck by it, and asked:
"What is the matter?"
"Everything is known; it is known that you killed your wife.
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