Dorothy did not turn round. She was a prisoner.

"I made no mistake," she thought. "They are the masters of the field of battle. But what has become of the others?"

On her right opened the entrance to the staircase which ascended the tower. Perhaps she might have fled up it and availed herself once more of the rope-ladder? But what use would it be? Did not the kidnaping of Montfaucon oblige her to fight to the end, in spite of the hopelessness of the conflict? She must throw herself into the arena, among the ferocious beasts.

She went on. Though alone and without friends, she found herself quite cool. As she went, she let the little ball of paper roll down her skirt. It rolled along the floor and was lost among the pebbles and dust which covered it.

As she came to the end of the vault, two arms shot out and two men covered her with their revolvers.

"Don't move!"

She shrugged her shoulders.

One of them repeated harshly:

"Don't move, or I shoot."

She looked at them. They were two subordinates, poisonous-looking rogues, dressed as sailors. She thought she recognized in them the two individuals who had accompanied d'Estreicher to the Manor. She said to them:

"The child? What have you done with the child? It was you who carried him off, wasn't it?"

With a sudden movement they seized her arms; and while one kept her covered with his revolver, the other set about the task of searching her. But an imperious voice checked them:

"Stop that. I'll do it myself."

A third personage whom Dorothy had not perceived, stepped out from the wall where enormous roots of ivy had concealed him.... D'Estreicher!

For all that he was still rigged out in his disguise of a Russian soldier, he was no longer the same man. Again she found him the d'Estreicher of Roborey and Hillocks Manor. He had resumed his arrogant air and his wicked expression, and did not try to conceal his slight limp. Now that his hair and beard were shaved off, she observed the flatness of the back of his head and the apelike development of his jaw.

He stood a long while without speaking. Was he tasting the joy of triumph? One would have said rather that he felt a certain discomfort in the presence of his victim, or at least that he was hesitating in his attack. He walked up and down, his hands behind his back, stopped, then walked up and down again.

He asked her:

"Have you any weapon?"

"None," she declared.

He told his two henchmen to go back to their comrades; then once more he began to walk up and down.

Dorothy studied him carefully, searching his face for something human of which she might take hold. But there was nothing but vulgarity, baseness, and cunning in it. She had only herself to rely on. In the lists formed by the ruins of the great tower, surrounded by a band of scoundrels, commanded by the most implacable of chiefs, watched, coveted, helpless, she had as her unique resource, her subtle intelligence. It was infinitely little, and it was much, since already once before, within the walls of Hillocks Manor, placed in the same situation, and facing the same enemy, she had conquered. It was much because this enemy distrusted himself and so lost some of his advantages.

For the moment he believed himself sure of success; and his attitude displayed all the insolence of one who believes he has nothing to fear.

Their eyes met. He began:

"How pretty she is, the little devil! A morsel fit for a king. It's a pity she detests me." And, drawing nearer, he added: "It really is detestation, Dorothy?"

She recoiled a step. He frowned.

"Yes: I know ... your father.... Bah! Your father was very ill.... He would have died in any case. So it wasn't really I who killed him."

She said:

"And your confederate ... a little while ago?... The false Marquis."

He sneered:

"Don't let's talk about that, I beg you. A measly fellow not worth a single regret ... so cowardly and so ungrateful that, finding himself unmasked, he was ready to betray me—as you guessed. For nothing escapes you, Dorothy, and on my word it has been child's play to you to solve every problem. I who have been working with the narrative of the servant Geoffrey, whose descendant I believe myself to be, have spent years making out what you have unraveled in a few minutes. Not a moment's hesitation. Not a mistake. You have spotted my game just as if you held my cards in your hand. And what astonishes me most, Dorothy, is your coolness at this moment. For at last, my dear, you know where we stand."

"I know."

"And you're not on your knees!" he exclaimed. "Truly I was looking to hear your supplications.... I saw you at my feet, dragging yourself along the ground. Instead of that, eyes which meet mine squarely, an attitude of provocation."

"I am not provoking you. I am listening."

"Then let us regulate our accounts. There are two. The account Dorothy." He smiled. "We won't talk about that yet. That comes last. And the account diamonds. At the present moment I should have been the possessor of them if you had not intercepted the indispensable document. Enough of obstacles! MaÎtre Delarue has confessed, with a revolver at his temple, that he gave you back the second envelope. Give it to me."

"If I don't?"

"All the worse for Montfaucon."

Dorothy did not even tremble. Assuredly she saw clearly the situation in which she found herself and understood that the duel she was fighting was much more serious than the first, at the Manor. There she expected help. Here nothing. No matter! With such a personage, there must be no weakening. The victor would be the one who should preserve an unshakable coolness, and should end, at some moment or other, by dominating the adversary.

"To hold out to the end!" she thought stubbornly. "... To the end.... And not till the last quarter of an hour ... but till the last quarter of the last minute."

She stared at her enemy and said in a tone of command:

"There's a child here who is suffering. First of all I order you to hand him over to me."

"Oh, indeed," he said ironically. "Mademoiselle orders. And by what right?"

"By the right given me by the certainty that before long you will be forced to obey me."

"By whom, my liege lady?"

"By my three friends, Errington, Webster, and Dario."

"Of course ... of course ..." he said. "Those gentlemen are stout young fellows accustomed to field sports, and you have every right to count on those intrepid champions."

He beckoned to Dorothy to follow him and crossed the arena, covered with stones, which formed the interior of the donjon. To the right of a breach, which formed the opposite entrance, and behind a curtain of ivy stretched over the bushes, were small vaulted chambers, which must have been ancient prisons. One still saw rings affixed to the stones at their base.

In three of these cells, Errington, Webster, and Dario were stretched out, firmly gagged, bound with ropes, which reduced them to the condition of mummies and fastened them to the rings. Three men, armed with rifles, guarded them. In a fourth cell was the corpse of the false Marquis. The fifth contained MaÎtre Delarue and Montfaucon. The child was rolled up in a rug. Above a strip of stuff, which hid the lower part of his face, his poor eyes, full of tears, smiled at Dorothy.

She crushed down the sob which rose to her throat. She uttered no word of protest or reproach. One would have said, indeed, that all these were secondary incidents which could not affect the issue of the conflict.

"Well?" chuckled d'Estreicher. "What do you think of your defenders? And what do you think of the forces at my disposal? Three comrades to guard the prisoners, two others posted as sentinels to watch the approaches. I can be easy in mind, what? But why, my beauty, did you leave them? You were the bond of union. Left to themselves, they let themselves be gathered in stupidly, one by one, at the exit from the donjon. It was no use any one of them struggling ... it didn't work. Not one of my men got a shadow of a scratch. I had more trouble with M. Delarue. I had to oblige him with a bullet through his hat before he'd come down from a tree in which he had perched himself. As for Montfaucon, an angel of sweetness! Consequently, you see, your champions being out of it, you can only count on yourself; and that isn't much."

"It's enough," she said. "The secret of the diamonds depends on me and on me only. So you're going to untie the bonds of my friends and set the child free."

"In return for what?"

"In return for that I will give you the envelope of the Marquis de Beaugreval."

He looked at her.

"Hang it, it's an attractive offer. Then you'd give up the diamonds?"

"Yes."

"Yourself and in the name of your friends?"

"Yes."

"Give me the envelope."

"Cut the ropes."

An access of rage seized him:

"Give me the envelope. After all I'm master. Give it me!"

"No," she said.

"I will have it.... I will have that envelope!"

"No," she said, yet more forcibly.

He snatched the purse pinned to her bodice, for the top of it showed above its edge.

"Ah!" he said in a tone of victory. "The notary told me that you had put it in this ... as you did the gold medal. At last I am going to learn!"

But there was nothing in the purse. Disappointed, mad with rage, he shook his fist in Dorothy's face, shouting:

"That was the game, was it? Your friends set free, I was done. The envelope, at once!"

"I have torn it up," she declared.

"You lie! One doesn't tear up a thing like that! One doesn't destroy a secret like that!"

She repeated:

"I tore it up; but I read it first. Cut the bonds of my friends; and I reveal the secret to you."

He howled:

"You lie! You lie! The envelope at once.... Ah, if you think that you can go on laughing at me for very long! I've had enough of it! For the last time, the envelope!"

"No," she said.

He rushed towards the cell in which the child was lying, tore the cloak off him, seized his hair with one hand and began to swing him like a bundle he was going to throw to a distance.

"The envelope! Or I smash his head against the wall!" he shouted at Dorothy.

He was a loathsome sight. His features were distorted by a horrible ferocity. His confederates gazed at him, laughing.

Dorothy raised her hand in token of acceptance.

He set the child on the ground and came back to her. He was covered with sweat.

"The envelope," he said once more.

She explained:

"In the entrance vault ... in this end of it, opening into this place ... a little ball on the ground, among the pebbles."

He called one of his confederates and repeated the information to him. The man went off, running.

"It was time!" muttered the ruffian, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Look you, you shouldn't provoke me. And then why that air of defiance?" he added, as if Dorothy's coolness shamed him. "Damn it all! Lower your eyes! Am I not master here? Master of your friends ... master of you ... yes, of you."

He repeated this word two or three times, almost to himself and with a look which made Dorothy uneasy. But, hearing his confederate, he turned and called to him sharply.

"Well?"

"Here it is."

"You're sure? You're sure? Ah, here we are. This is the real victory."

He unfolded the crumpled envelope and held it in his hands, turning it slowly over and over as if it were the most precious of possessions. It had not been opened; the seals were intact; no one then knew the great secret which he was going to learn.

He could not prevent himself from saying aloud:

"No one ... no one but me...."

He unsealed the envelope. It contained a sheet of paper folded in two, on which only three or four lines were written.

He read those lines and seemed greatly astonished.

"Oh, it's devilish clever! And I understand why I found nothing, nor any of those who have searched. The old chap was right: the hiding-place is undiscoverable."

He began to walk up and down, in silence, like a man who is weighing alternative actions. Then, returning to the cells, he said to the three guards, his finger pointing to the prisoners:

"No means of their escaping, is there? The ropes are strong. Then march along to the boat and get ready to start."

His confederates hesitated.

"Well, what's the matter with you?" said their leader.

One of them risked saying:

"But ... the treasure?"

Dorothy observed their hostile attitude. Doubtless they distrusted one another; and the idea of leaving before the division of the spoil, appeared to endanger their interests.

"The treasure?" he cried. "What about it? Do you suppose I'm going to swallow it. You'll get the share you've been promised. I've sworn it. And a big share too."

He bullied all three of them, impatient to be alone.

"Hurry up! Ah, I was forgetting.... Call your two comrades on duty; and all five of you carry away the false Marquis. We'll throw him into the sea. In that way he'll neither be seen nor known. Get on."

His confederates discussed the matter for a moment. But their leader maintained his ascendancy over them, and grumbling, with lowering faces, they obeyed his orders.

"Six o'clock," he said. "At seven I'll be with you so that we can get off soon after dark. And have everything ready, mind you! Set the cabin in order.... Perhaps there'll be an additional passenger."

Once more he looked at Dorothy and studied her face while his confederates moved off.

"A passenger, or rather a lady passenger. What, Dorothy?"

Always impassive, she did not answer. But her suffering became keener and keener. The terrible moment drew near.

He still held the envelope and the letter of the Marquis in his hand. From his pocket he drew a lighter and lit it to read the instructions once more.

"Admirable!" he murmured almost purring with satisfaction. "A first-class idea!... As well search at the bottom of hell. Ah, that Marquis! What a man!"

He twisted the paper into a long spill and put its end in the flame. The paper caught fire. At its flame he lit a cigarette with an affectation of nonchalance, and turning toward the prisoners, he waited, with hand outstretched, till there remained of the document only a little ash which was scattered by the breath of the breeze.

"Look Webster, look Errington and Dario. This is all you'll ever see of the secret of your ancestor ... a little ash.... It's gone. Confess that you haven't been very smart. You are three stout fellows and you haven't been able either to keep the treasure which was waiting for you, nor to defend the pretty cousin whom you admired, open-mouthed. Hang it! There were six of us in the little room in the tower; and it would have been enough for one of you to grip hold of my collar.... I was damned uncomfortable. Instead of that, what a cropper you came. All the worse for you ... and all the worse for her!"

He showed them his revolver.

"I shan't need to use this. What?" he said. "You must have noticed that at the slightest movement the cords grow tighter round your throats. If you insist ... it's strangulation pure and simple. A word to the wise. Now, cousin Dorothy, I'm at your service. Follow me. We're going to perform the impossible in our attempt to come to an understanding."

All resistance was futile. She went with him to the other side of the tower across an accumulation of ruins, to a chamber of which there only remained the walls, pierced with loop-holes, which he said was the ancient guardroom.

"We shall be able to talk comfortably here. Your suitors will be able neither to see nor hear us. The solitude is absolute. Look here's a grassy bank. Please sit down."

She crossed her arms and remained standing, her head straight. He waited, murmured: "As you like"; then, taking the seat he had offered her, he said:

"This is our third interview, Dorothy. The first time, on the terrace of Roborey, you refused my offers, which was to be expected. You were ignorant of the exact value of my information; and all I could seem to you was a rather odd and disreputable person, against who you were burning to make war. A very noble sentiment which imposed on the Chagny cousins, but which did not deceive me, since I knew all about the theft of the earrings. In reality you had only one object: to get rid, in view of the great windfall you hoped for, of the most dangerous competitor. And the chief proof of that is that immediately after having denounced me you hurried off to Hillocks Manor, where you would probably find the solution of the riddle, and where I was again brought up short by your intrigues. To turn young Davernoie's head and sneak the medal, such was the task you undertook, and I admiringly confess carried it out from beginning to end. Only ... only ... d'Estreicher is not the kind of man to be disposed of so easily. Escape, that sham fire, the recovery of the medal, the capture of the codicil, in short complete redress. At the present moment the four diamonds belong to me. Whether I take possession of them to-morrow, or in a week, or in a year, is of no consequence. They are mine. Dozens of people, hundreds perhaps, have been vainly searching for them for two centuries; there is no reason why others should find them now. Behold me then exceedingly rich ... millions and millions. Wealth like that permits one to become honest ... which is my intention ... if always Dorothy consents to be the passenger of whom I told my men. One word in answer. Is it yes? Is it no?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"I knew what to expect," he said. "All the same I wished to make the test ... before having recourse to extreme measures."

He awaited the effect of this threat. Dorothy did not stir.

"How calm you are!" he said in a tone in which there was a note of disquiet. "However you understand the situation exactly?"

"Exactly."

"We're alone. I have as pledges, as means of acting on you, the life of Montfaucon and the lives of these three bound men. Then how comes it that you are so calm?"

She said clearly and positively:

"I am calm because I know you are lost."

"Come, come," he said laughing.

"Irretrievably lost."

"And why?"

"Just now, at the inn, after having learnt about the kidnaping of Montfaucon, I sent my three other boys to the nearest farms to bring all the peasants they met."

He sneered:

"By the time they've got together a troop of peasants, I shall be a long way off."

"They are nearly here. I'm certain of it."

"Too late, my pretty dear. If I'd had the slightest doubt, I'd have had you carried off by my men."

"By your men? No...."

"What is there to prevent it?"

"You are afraid of them, in spite of your airs of wild-beast tamer. They're asking themselves whether you didn't stay here to take advantage of the secret you have stolen and get hold of the diamonds. They would find an ally in me. You would not dare to take the risk."

"And then?"

"Then that's why I am calm."

He shook his head and in a grating voice:

"A lie, little one. Play-acting. You are paler than the dead, for you know exactly where you stand. Whether I am tracked here in an hour, or whether my men end by betraying me, makes little difference. What does matter, to you, to me, is not what happens in an hour, but what is going to happen now. And you have no doubts about what is going to happen, have you?"

He rose and standing over her, studied her with a menacing bitterness:

"From the first minute I was caught like an imbecile! Rope-dancer, acrobat, princess, thief, mountebank, there is something in you which overwhelms me. I have always despised women ... not one has troubled me in my life. You, you attract me while you frighten me. Love? No. Hate.... Or rather a disease.... A poison which burns me and of which I must rid myself, Dorothy."

He was very close to her, his eyes hard and full of fever. His hands hovered about the young girl's shoulders, ready to throw her down. To avoid their grasp she had to draw back towards the wall. He said in a very low, breathless voice:

"Stop laughing, Dorothy! I've had enough of your gypsy spells. The taste of your lips, that's the potion that's going to heal me. Afterwards I shall be able to fly and never see you again. But afterwards only. Do you understand?"

He set his two hands on her shoulders so roughly that she tottered. However, she continued to defy him with her attitude wholly contemptuous. Her will was strained to prevent him from getting once more the impression that she could tremble in the depths of her being and grow weak.

"Do you understand?... Do you understand?" the man stuttered, hammering her arms and neck. "Do you understand that nothing can stop it? Help is impossible. It's the penalty of defeat. To-day I avenge myself ... and at the same time I free myself from you.... When we are separated, I shall be able to say to myself: 'Yes, she hurt me, but I do not regret it. The dÉnouement of the adventure effaces everything.'"

He leant more and more heavily on the young girl's shoulders, and said to her with sarcastic joy:

"Your eyes are troubled, Dorothy! What a pleasure to see that! There is fear in your eyes—fear.... How beautiful they are, Dorothy! This is indeed the reward of victory—just a look like that, which is full of fear—fear of me. That is worth more than anything. Dorothy, Dorothy, I love you.... Forget you? What folly! If I wish to kiss your lips, it is that I may love you even more ... and that you may love me ... that you may follow me like a slave and like the mistress of my heart."

She touched the wall. The man tried to draw her to him. She made an effort to free herself.

"Ah!" he cried in a sudden fury, mauling her. "No resistance, my dear. Give me your lips, at once, do you hear! If not, it's Montfaucon who'll pay. Do you want me to swing him round again as I did just now? Come, obey, or I'll certainly cut across to his cell; and so much the worse for the brat's head!"

Dorothy was at the end of her forces. Her legs were bending. All her being shuddered with horror at this contact with the ruffian; and at the same time she trembled to repulse him, so great was her fear lest he should at once fling himself on the child.

Her stiff arms began to bend. The man re-doubled his efforts to force her to her knees. It was all over. He was nearly at his goal. But at that moment the most unexpected sight caught her eye. Behind him, a few feet away, something was moving, something which passed through the opposite wall. It was the barrel of a rifle leveled at him through the loop-hole slit.

On the instant she remembered that Saint-Quentin had carried away from the inn an old and useless rifle without cartridges!

She did not make a sign which could draw d'Estreicher's attention to it. She understood Saint-Quentin's maneuver. The boy threatened, but he could only threaten. It was for her to contrive the method by which that menace should as soon as d'Estreicher saw it directed against him, have its full effect. It was certain that d'Estreicher would only need a moment to perceive, as Dorothy herself perceived, the rust and the deplorable condition of the weapon, as harmless as a child's gun.

Quite clearly Dorothy perceived what she had to: to pull herself together, to face the enemy boldly, and to confuse him, were it only for a few seconds, as she had already succeeded in upsetting him by her coolness and self-control. Her safety, the safety of Montfaucon depended on her firmness. In robore fortuna, she thought.

But that thought she unconsciously uttered in a low voice, as one utters a prayer for protection. And at once she felt her adversary's grip relax. The old motto, on which he had so often reflected, uttered so quietly, at such a moment, by this woman whom he believed to be at bay, disconcerted him. He looked at her closely and was astounded. Never had her beautiful face worn such a serene air. Over the white teeth the lips opened, and the eyes, a moment ago terrified and despairing, now regarded him with the quietest smile.

"What on earth is it?" he cried, beside himself, as he recalled her astounding laughter near the pool at Hillocks Manor. "Are you going to laugh again to-day?"

"I'm laughing for the same reason: you are lost."

He tried to take it as a joke:

"Hang it! How?"

"Yes," she declared. "I told you so from the first moment; and I was right."

"You're mad," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

She noticed that he had grown more respectful, and sure of a victory which rested in her extraordinary coolness and in the absolute similarity of the two scenes, she repeated:

"You are lost. The situation really is the same as at the Manor. There Raoul and the children had gone to seek for help; and of a sudden, when you were the master, the barrel of a gun was leveled at you. Here, it is the same. The three urchins have found men. They are there, as at the Manor with their guns.... You remember? They are here. The barrels of the guns are leveled at you."

"You l-l-lie!" stammered the ruffian.

"They are there," she declared in a yet more impressive tone. "I've heard my boys' signal. They haven't wasted time coming round the tower. They are on the other side of that wall."

"You lie!" he cried. "What you say is impossible!"

She said, always with the coolness of a person no longer menaced by peril, and with an imperious contempt:

"Turn round!... You'll see their guns leveled at your breast. At a word from me they fire! Turn round then!"

He shrunk back. He did not wish to obey. But Dorothy's eyes, blazing, irresistible, stronger than he, compelled him; and yielding to their compulsion, he turned round.

It was the last quarter of the last minute.

With all the force of her being, with a strength of conviction which did not permit the ruffian to think, she commanded:

"Hands up, you blackguard! Or they'll shoot you like a dog! Hands up! Shoot there! Show no mercy! Shoot! Hands up!"

D'Estreicher saw the rifle. He raised his hands.

Dorothy sprang on him and in a second tore a revolver from his jacket pocket, and aiming at his head, without her heart quickening a beat and with a perfectly steady hand, she said slowly, her eyes gleaming maliciously:

"Idiot! I told you plainly you were lost."