"Go with Madame!" La Tribe cried, roughly nudging Carlat in the back. "Do
you not see that she cannot climb the bank? Up, man, up!"
The Countess opened her mouth to cry "No!" but the word died half-born on
her lips; and when the steward looked at her, uncertain what she had
said, she nodded.
"Yes, go!" she muttered. She was pale.
"Yes, man, go!" cried the minister, his eyes burning. And he almost
pushed the other out of the boat.
The next second the craft floated from the bank, and began to drift
downwards. La Tribe waited until a tree interposed and hid them from the
two whom they had left; then he leaned forward.
"Now, Madame!" he cried imperiously. "In God's name, now!"
"Oh!" she cried. "Wait! Wait! I want to think."
"To think?"
"He trusted me!" she wailed. "He trusted me! How can I do it?"
Nevertheless, and even while she spoke, she drew forth the packet.
"Heaven has given you the opportunity!"
"If I could have stolen it!" she answered.
"Fool!" he returned, rocking himself to and fro, and fairly beside
himself with impatience. "Why steal it? It is in your hands! You have
it! It is Heaven's own opportunity, it is God's opportunity given to
you!"
For he could not read her mind nor comprehend the scruple which held her
hand. He was single-minded. He had but one aim, one object. He saw the
haggard faces of brave men hopeless; he heard the dying cries of women
and children. Such an opportunity of saving God's elect, of redeeming
the innocent, was in his eyes a gift from Heaven. And having these
thoughts and seeing her hesitate--hesitate when every movement caused him
agony, so imperative was haste, so precious the opportunity--he could
bear the suspense no longer. When she did not answer he stooped forward,
until his knees touched the thwart on which Carlat had sat; then, without
a word, he flung himself forward, and, with one hand far extended,
grasped the packet.
Had he not moved, she would have done his will; almost certainly she
would have done it. But, thus attacked, she resisted instinctively; she
clung to the letters.
"No!" she cried. "No! Let go, Monsieur!" And she tried to drag the
packet from him.
"Give it me!"
"Let go, Monsieur! Do you hear?" she repeated. And, with a vigorous
jerk, she forced it from him--he had caught it by the edge only--and held
it behind her. "Go back, and--"
"Give it me!" he panted.
"I will not!"
"Then throw it overboard!"
"I will not!" she cried again, though his face, dark with passion, glared
into hers, and it was clear that the man, possessed by one idea only, was
no longer master of himself. "Go back to your place!"