Véronique's estimate was correct, provided that the door opened outwards1 and that her enemies were at once revealed to view. She therefore examined the door and suddenly observed that, against all logical expectation, it had a large strong bolt at the bottom. Should she make use of it?
She had no time to weigh the advantages or drawbacks of this plan. She had heard a jingle2 of keys and, almost at the same time, the sound of a key grating in the lock.
Véronique received a very clear vision of what was likely to happen. When the assailants burst in, she would be thrust aside, she would be hampered3 in her movements, her aim would be inaccurate4 and her shots would miss, whereupon they would shut the door again and promptly5 hurry off to François' cell. The thought of it made her lose her head; and her action was instinctive6 and immediate7. First, she pushed the bolt at the foot of the door. Next, half rising, she slammed the iron shutter8 over the wicket. A latch9 clicked. It was no longer possible either to enter or to look in.
Then at once she realized the absurdity10 of her action, which had not opposed any obstacle to the menace of the enemy. Stéphane, leaping to her side, said:
"Good heavens, what have you done? Why, they saw that I was not moving and they now know that I am not alone!"
"Exactly," she answered, striving to defend herself. "They will try to break down the door, which will give us the time we want."
"The time we want for what?"
"To make our escape."
"Which way?"
"François will call out to us. François will . . ."
She did not complete her sentence. They now heard the sound of footsteps moving swiftly down the passage. There was no doubt about it; the enemy, without troubling about Stéphane, whose flight appeared impossible, was making for the upper floor of cells. Moreover, might he not suppose that the two friends were acting11 in agreement and that it was the boy who was in Stéphane's cell and who had barred the door?
Véronique therefore had precipitated12 events and given them a turn which she had so many reasons to dread13; and François, up above, would be caught at the very moment when he was preparing to escape.
She was utterly14 overwhelmed:
"Why did I come here?" she muttered. "It would have been so simple to wait! The two of us would have saved you to a certainty."
One idea flashed through the confusion of her mind: had she not sought to hasten Stéphane's release because of what she knew of this man's love for her? And was it not an unworthy curiosity that had prompted her to make the attempt? A horrible idea, which she at once rejected, saying:
"No, I had to come. It is fate which is persecuting16 us."
"Don't believe it," said Stéphane. "Everything will come right."
"Too late!" said she, shaking her head.
"Why? How do we know that François has not left his cell? You yourself thought so just now . . . ."
She did not reply. Her face became drawn17 and very pale. By virtue18 of her sufferings she had acquired a kind of intuition of the evil that threatened her. This evil now surrounded her on every hand. A second series of ordeals20 was before her, more terrible than the first.
"There's death all about us," she said.
He tried to smile:
"You are talking like the people of Sarek. You have the same fears . . ."
"They were right to be afraid. And you yourself feel the horror of it all."
She rushed to the door, drew the bolt, tried to open it; but what could she do against that massive, iron-clad door?
Stéphane seized her by the arm:
"One moment . . . . Listen . . . . It sounds as if . . ."
"Yes," she said, "it's up there that they are knocking . . . above our heads . . . in François' cell . . . ."
"Not at all, not at all: listen . . . ."
There was a long silence; and then blows were heard in the thickness of the cliff. The sound came from below them.
"The same blows that I heard this morning," said Stéphane, in dismay. "The same attempt of which I spoke21 to you . . . . Ah, I understand! . . ."
"What? What do you mean?"
The blows were repeated, at regular intervals22, and then ceased, to be followed by a dull, continuous sound, pierced by shriller creakings and sudden cracks, like the straining of machinery23 newly started, or of one of those capstans which are used for hoisting24 boats up a beach.
Véronique listened, desperately25 expectant of what was coming, trying to guess, seeking to find some clue in Stéphane's eyes. He stood in front of her, looking at her as a man, in the hour of danger, looks at the woman he loves.
And suddenly she staggered and had to press her hand against the wall. It was as though the cave and indeed the whole cliff were bodily moving from its place.
"Oh," she murmured, "is it I who am trembling like this? Is it from fear that I am shaking from head to foot?"
Seizing Stéphane's hands, she said:
"Tell me! I want to know! . . ."
He did not answer. There was no fear in his eyes bedewed with tears, there was nothing but immense love and unbounded despair. He was thinking only of her.
Besides, was it necessary for him to explain what was happening? Did not the reality itself become more and more apparent as the seconds passed? A strange reality indeed, having no connection with commonplace facts, a reality quite beyond anything that the imagination might invent in the domain26 of evil, a strange reality which Véronique, who was beginning to grasp its indication, still refused to believe.
Acting like a trap-door, but like a trap-door working the reverse way, the square of enormous joists which was set in the middle of the cave rose, pivoting27 on the fixed28 axis29 by which it was hinged parallel with the cliff. The almost imperceptible movement was that of an enormous lid opening; and the thing already formed a sort of spring-board reaching from the edge to the back of the cave, a spring-board with as yet a very slight slope, on which it was easy enough to keep one's balance.
At the first moment, Véronique thought that the enemy's object was to crush them between the implacable floor and the granite30 of the ceiling. But, almost immediately afterwards, she understood that the hateful mechanism31, by standing32 erect33 like a draw-bridge when hoisted34 up, was intended to hurl35 them over the precipice36. And it would carry out that intention inexorably. The result was fatal and inevitable37. Whatever they might try, whatever efforts they might make to hold on, a minute would come when the floor of that draw-bridge would be absolutely vertical38, forming an integral part of the perpendicular39 cliff.
"It's horrible, it's horrible," she muttered.
Their hands were still clasped. Stéphane was weeping silent tears.
Presently she moaned:
"There's nothing to be done, is there?"
"Nothing," he replied.
"Still, there is room beyond that wooden floor. The cave is round. We might .. ."
"The space is too small. If we tried to stand between the sides of the square and the wall, we should be crushed to death. That has all been planned. I have often thought about it."
"Then . . . ?"
"We must wait."
"For what? For whom?"
"For François."
"Oh, François!" she said, with a sob40. "Perhaps he too is doomed41 . . . . Or perhaps he is looking for us and will fall into some trap. In any case, I shall not see him . . . . And he will know nothing . . . . And he will not even have seen his mother before dying . . . ."
She pressed Stéphane's hands and said:
"Stéphane, if one of us escapes death—and I hope it may be you . . ."
"It will be you," he said, in a tone of conviction. "I am even surprised that the enemy should condemn42 you to the same torture as myself. But no doubt he doesn't know that it's you who are here with me."
"It surprises me too!" said Véronique. "A different torture is set aside for me. But what does it matter, if I am not to see my son again! . . . Stéphane, I can safely leave him in your charge, can't I? I know all that you have already done for him."
The floor continued to rise very slowly, with an uneven43 vibration44 and sudden jerks. The slope became more accentuated45. A few minutes more and they would no longer be able to speak freely and quietly.
Stéphane replied:
"If I survive, I swear to fulfil my task to the end. I swear it in memory . . ."
"In memory of me," she said, in a firm voice, "in memory of the Véronique whom you knew . . . and loved."
He looked at her passionately46:
"So you know?"
"Yes; and I tell you frankly47, I have read your diary. I know your love for me . . . and I accept it." She gave a sad smile. "That poor love which you offered to the woman who was absent . . . and which you are now offering to the woman who is about to die."
"No, no," he said, eagerly, "don't believe that . . . . Salvation48 may be near at hand . . . . I feel it. My love does not belong to the past but to the future."
He stooped to put his lips to her hands.
"Kiss me," she said, offering him her forehead.
Each of them had been obliged to place one foot on the brink49 of the precipice, on the straight edge of granite which ran parallel with the fourth side of the spring-board.
They kissed gravely.
"Hold me firmly," said Véronique.
She leant back as far as she could, raising her head, and called in a muffled50 voice:
"François . . . . François . . . ."
But there was no one at the upper opening, from which the ladder was still hanging by one of its hooks, well out of reach.
Véronique bent51 over the sea. At this spot, the swell52 of the cliff di............