The Secret of Sarek Part 41

He had come nearer; and he now exclaimed:

"What! Did that rascal of a Vorski leave you tied up? What a brute that Vorski is! And how uncomfortable you must be! . . . Hang it all, how pale you are! I say, look here, you're not dead, are you? That would be a nasty trick to play us!"

He took Veronique's hand, which she promptly s.n.a.t.c.hed away.

"Capital! We still loathe our little Vorski! Then that's all right and there's plenty of reserve strength. You'll hold out to the end, Veronique."

He listened:

"What is it? Who's calling me? Is it you, Otto? Come up . . . . Well, Otto, what news? I've been asleep, you know. That d.a.m.ned Saumur wine!

Otto, one of the two accomplices, entered the room at a run. He was the one whose paunch bulged so oddly.

"What news?" he exclaimed. "Why, this: I've seen some one on the island!"

Vorski began to laugh:

"You're drunk, Otto. That d.a.m.ned Saumur wine . . ."

"I'm not drunk. I saw . . . and so did Conrad . . ."

"Oho," said Vorski, more seriously, "if Conrad was with you! Well, what did you see?"

"A white figure, which hid when we came along."

"Where?"

"Between the village and the heath, in a little wood of chestnut trees."

"On the other side of the island then?"

"Yes."

"All right. We'll take our precautions."

"How? There may be several of them."

"I don't care if there are ten of them; it would make no difference.

Where's Conrad?"

"By the foot-bridge which we put in the place of the bridge that was burnt down. He's keeping watch from there."

"Conrad is a clever one. When the bridge was burnt, we were kept on the other side; if the foot-bridge is burnt, it'll produce the same hindrance. Veronique, I really believe they're coming to rescue you.

It's the miracle you expected, the a.s.sistance you hoped for. But it's too late, my beauty."

He untied the bonds that fastened her to the balcony, carried her to the sofa and loosened the gag slightly:

"Sleep, my wench," he said. "Get what rest you can. You're only half-way to Golgotha yet; and the last bit of the ascent will be the hardest."

He went away jesting; and Veronique heard the two men exchange a few sentences which proved to her that Otto and Conrad were only supers who knew nothing of the business in hand:

"Who's this wretched woman whom you're persecuting?" asked Otto.

"That doesn't concern you."

"Still, Conrad and I would like to know something about it."

"Lord, why?"

"Oh, just because!"

"Conrad and you are a pair of fools," replied Vorski. "When I took you into my service and helped you to escape with me, I told you all I could of my plans. You accepted my conditions. It was your look-out. You've got to see this thing through now."

"And if we don't?"

"If you don't, beware of the consequences. I don't like shirkers . . . ."

More hours pa.s.sed. Nothing, it seemed to Veronique, could any longer save her from the end for which she craved with all her heart. She no longer hoped for the intervention of which Otto had spoken. In reality she was not thinking at all. Her son was dead; and she had no other wish than to join him without delay, even at the cost of the most dreadful suffering. What did that suffering matter to her? There are limits to the strength of those who are tortured; and she was so near to reaching those limits that her agony would not last long.

She began to pray. Once more the memory of the past forced itself on her mind; and the fault which she had committed seemed to her the cause of all the misfortunes heaped upon her.

And, while praying, exhausted, hara.s.sed, in a state of nervous extenuation which left her indifferent to anything that might happen, she fell asleep.

Vorski's return did not even rouse her. He had to shake her:

"The hour is at hand, my girl. Say your prayers."

He spoke low, so that his a.s.sistants might not hear what he said; and, whispering in her ear, he told her things of long ago, insignificant trifles which he dribbled out in a thick tone. At last he called out:

"It's still too light, Otto. Go and see what you can find in the larder, will you? I'm hungry."

They sat down to table, but Vorski stood up again at once:

"Don't look at me, my girl. Your eyes worry me. What do you expect? My conscience doesn't worry me when I'm alone, but it gets worked up when a fine pair of eyes like yours go right through me. Lower your lids, my pretty one."

He bound Veronique's eyes with a handkerchief which he knotted behind her head. But this did not satisfy him; and he unhooked a muslin curtain from the window, wrapped her whole head in it and wound it round her neck. Then he sat down again to eat and drink.

The three of them hardly spoke and said not a word of their trip across the island, nor of the duel of the afternoon. In any case, these were details which did not interest Veronique and which, even if she had paid attention to them, would not have aroused her. Everything had become indifferent to her. The words reached her ears but a.s.sumed no definite meaning. She thought of nothing but dying.

When it was dark, Vorski gave the signal for departure.

"Then you're still determined?" asked Otto, in a voice betraying a certain hostility.

"More so than ever. What's your reason for asking?"

"Nothing . . . . But, all the same . . ."

"All the same what?"