“For pity’s sake,” he cried, pale and bewildered, without seeing whom he was addressing,—“for pity’s sake do not call assistance! Save me!—I will not harm you.”
“Andrea, the murderer!” cried one of the ladies.
“Eugénie! Mademoiselle Danglars!” exclaimed Andrea, stupefied.
“Help, help!” cried Mademoiselle d’Armilly, taking the bell from her companion’s hand, and ringing it yet more violently.
“Save me, I am pursued!” said Andrea, clasping his hands. “For pity, for mercy’s sake do not deliver me up!”
“It is too late, they are coming,” said Eugénie.
“Well, conceal me somewhere; you can say you were needlessly alarmed; you can turn their suspicions and save my life!”
The two ladies, pressing closely to one another, and drawing the bedclothes tightly around them, remained silent to this supplicating voice, repugnance and fear taking possession of their minds.
“Well, be it so,” at length said Eugénie; “return by the same road you came, and we will say nothing about you, unhappy wretch.”
“Here he is, here he is!” cried a voice from the landing; “here he is! I see him!”
The brigadier had put his eye to the keyhole, and had discovered Andrea in a posture of entreaty. A violent blow from the butt end of the musket burst open the lock, two more forced out the bolts, and the broken door fell in. Andrea ran to the other door, leading to the gallery, ready to rush out; but he was stopped short, and he stood with his body a little thrown back, pale, and with the useless knife in his clenched hand.