“Who?”
“I don’t know. … The whole business is incomprehensible to me. … Don’t speak of it. … It all pains me. … I have suffered so since Coralie’s death!”
“Coralie!” exclaimed Patrice.
“Yes, the woman I loved. … As for little Coralie, I’ve suffered also on her account. … She ought not to have married Essarès.”
“Where is she?” asked Patrice, in agony.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Oh,” cried Patrice, shaking with rage, “you mean she’s dead!”
“No, she’s alive, I swear it.”
“Then where is she? That’s the only thing that matters. All the rest belongs to the past. But this thing, a woman’s life, Coralie’s life …”
“Listen.”
Siméon stopped and gave a glance at Don Luis;
“Tell him to go away,” he said.
Don Luis laughed:
“Of course! Little Mother Coralie is hidden in the same place as the bags of gold. To save her means surrendering the bags of gold.”
“Well?” said Patrice, in an almost aggressive tone.
“Well, captain,” replied Don Luis, not without a certain touch of banter in his voice, “if this honorable gentleman suggested that you should release him on parole so that he might go and fetch your Coralie, I don’t suppose you’d accept?”
“No.”
“You haven’t the least confidence in him, have you? And you’re right. The honorable gentleman, mad though he may be, gave such proofs of mental superiority and balance, when he sent us trundling down the road to Mantes, that it would be dangerous to attach the least credit to his promises. The consequence is …”
“Well?”
“This, captain, that the honorable gentleman means to propose a bargain to you, which may be couched thus: ‘You can have Coralie, but I’ll keep the gold.’ ”
“And then?”
“And then? It would be a capital notion, if you were alone with the honorable gentleman. The bargain would soon be concluded. But I’m here … by Jupiter!”
Patrice had drawn himself up. He stepped towards Don Luis and said, in a voice which became openly hostile:
“I presume that you won’t raise any opposition. It’s a matter of a woman’s life.”
“No doubt. But, on the other hand, it’s a matter of three hundred million francs.”
“Then you refuse?”
“Refuse? I should think so!”
“You refuse when that woman is at her last gasp? You would rather she died? … Look here, you seem to forget that this is my affair, that … that …”
The two men were standing close together. Don Luis retained that chaffing calmness, that air of knowing more than he chose to say, which irritated Patrice. At heart Patrice, while yielding to Don Luis’ mastery, resented it and felt a certain embarrassment at accepting the services of a man with whose past he was so well acquainted.
“Then you actually refuse?” he rapped out, clenching his fists.
“Yes,” said Don Luis, preserving his coolness. “Yes, Captain Belval, I refuse this bargain, which I consider absurd. Why, it’s the confidence-trick! By Jingo! Three hundred millions! Give up a windfall like that? Never. But I haven’t the least objection to leaving you alone with the honorable gentleman. That’s what he wants, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Well, talk it over between yourselves. Sign the compact. The honorable gentleman, who, for his part, has every confidence in his son, will tell you the whereabouts of the hiding-place; and you shall release your Coralie.”
“And you? What about you?” snarled Patrice, angrily.
“I? I’m going to complete my little enquiry into the present and the past by revisiting the room where you nearly met your death. See you later, captain. And, whatever you do, insist on guarantees.”
Switching on his pocket-lamp, Don Luis entered the lodge and walked straight to the studio. Patrice saw the electric rays playing on the panels between the walled-up windows. He went back to where Siméon sat:
“Now then,” he said, in a voice of authority. “Be quick about it.”
“Are you sure he’s not listening?”
“Quite sure.”
“Be careful with him, Patrice. He means to take the gold and keep it.”
“Don’t waste time,” said Patrice, impatiently. “Get to Coralie.”
“I’ve told you Coralie was alive.”
“She was alive when you left her; but since then …”
“Yes, since then …”
“Since then, what? You seem to have your doubts.”
“It was last night, five or six hours ago, and I am afraid …”
Patrice felt a cold shudder run down his back. He would have given anything for a decisive word; and at the same time he was almost strangling the old man to punish him. He mastered himself, however:
“Don’t let’s waste time,” he repeated. “Tell me where to go.”
“No, we’ll go together.”
“You haven’t the strength.”
“Yes, yes, I can manage … it’s not far. Only, only, listen to me. …”
The old man seemed utterly exhausted. From time to time his breathing was interrupted, as though Ya-Bon’s hand were still clutching him by the throat, and he sank into a heap, moaning.
Patrice stooped over him:
“I’m listening,” he said. “But, for God’s sake, hurry!”
“All right,” said Siméon. “All right. She’ll be free in a few minutes. But on one condition, just one. … Patrice, you must swear to me on Coralie’s head that you will not touch the gold and that no one shall know …”
“I swear it on her head.”
“You swear it, yes; but the other one, your damned companion, he’ll follow us, he’ll see.”
“No, he won’t.”
“Yes, he will, unless you consent …”
“To what? Oh, in Heaven’s name, speak!”
“I’ll tell you. Listen. But remember, we must go to Coralie’s assistance … and that quickly … otherwise …”
Patrice hesitated, bending one leg, almost on his knees:
“Then come, do!” he said, modifying his tone. “Please come, because Coralie …”
“Yes, but that man …”
“Oh, Coralie first!”
“What do you mean? Suppose he sees us? Suppose he takes the gold from us?”
“What does that matter!”
“Oh, don’t say that, Patrice! … The gold! That’s the one thing! Since that gold has been mine, my life is changed. The past no longer counts … nor does hatred … nor love. … There’s only the gold, the bags of gold … I’d rather die … and let Coralie die … and see the whole world disappear …”
“But, look here, what is it you want? What is it you demand?”
Patrice had taken the two arms of this man who was his father and whom he had never detested with greater vehemence. He was imploring him with all the strength of his
