"Elise--Elise!" he said. The voice was persuasive, eloquent, going to
every far retreat of emotion in her. There was a sudden riot in his
veins, and he took her passionately in his arms, and kissed her on the
lips, on the eyes, on the hair, on the neck. At that moment the outer
door opened below, and the murmur of voices came to them.

"Oh, monsieur--oh, your Excellency, let me go!" she whispered fearfully.
"It is my mother and Duclosse the mealman."

Valmond recognised the fat, wheezy tones of Duclosse--Sergeant Duclosse.
He released her, and she caught up the candle.

"What can you do?" she whispered.

"I will wait here. I must not go down," he replied. "It would mean
ruin."

Ruin! ruin! Was she face to face with ruin already, she who, two
minutes ago, was as safe and happy as a young bird in its nest? He felt
instantly that he had made a mistake, had been cruel, though he had not
intended it.

"Ruin to me," he said at once. "Duclosse is a stupid fellow: he would
not understand; he would desert me; and that would be disastrous at this
moment. Go down," he said. "I will wait here, Elise."

Her brows knitted painfully. "Oh, monsieur, I'd rather face death, I
believe, than that you should remain here."