But suppose that he had closed it behind him. I remembered
its size and the iron clampings which bound it together. It was
possible that even at the last moment we might find ourselves face to
face with an insuperable obstacle. On and on we hurried in the dark,
and then suddenly I could have raised a shout of joy, for there in the
distance was a yellow glimmer of light, only visible in contrast with
the black darkness which lay between. The door was open. In his mad
thirst for vengeance Toussac had never given a thought to the pursuers
at his heels.
And now we need no longer grope. It was a race along the passage and up
the winding stair, through the second door, and into the stone-flagged
corridor of the Castle of Grosbois, with the oil-lamp still burning at
the end of it. A frightful cry--a long-drawn scream of terror and of
pain--rang through it as we entered.
'He is killing him! He is killing him!' cried a voice, and a woman
servant rushed madly out into the passage. 'Help, help; he is killing
Monsieur Bernac!'
'Where is he?' shouted Savary.
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