“What next, my friend?” asked Fronsac. “What of him?” and he glanced at Roquefort. “Has he not lived long enough?” I looked at him as he sat drivelling there. Yet I had thought never to kill a man but in a fair fight. And on the instant a sudden inspiration flashed into my brain. “I have it!” I cried. “We will lower him down the cliff! We will take him prisoner to M. le Comte to deal with as he chooses! There would be a vengeance for you!” I could see the dare-devil in Fronsac take fire at the words. In a moment he had pulled up the rope, and we were knotting it under Roquefort’s arms. He resisted vaguely, weakly, like a drunken man, but we dragged him to the edge and pushed him over. He cried out hoarsely as he fell, and I thought for a breath that his weight would drag us over with him, but the rope caught in a crevice of the rock and gave us time to brace ourselves. Then we lowered him rapidly, rasping and scraping against the cliff, but there was no time to think of that. At last the rope hung taut. “You next, my friend,” I said to Fronsac on the instant. He would have protested, but I pushed him to the edge. “Hasten. Think who awaits you below.” Without a word he let himself carefully over the edge. I could see the rope quivering under the double weight, and noted with anxious eyes how it chafed against the edge of the rock. The moments passed, and at last I saw that he too was down. I stooped to test the rope where the rock had chafed it, when there came a sudden hideous roar from overhead, a crash of splitting timbers--they had fired a petard against the door--had blown it down--I understood now the reason of their silence! There was no time to hesitate. I caught the rope and threw myself over the cliff. My knees scraped against the rock, the rope burned deep into my fingers, still smarting from the dagger-cut. But I held fast, praying that they might not see the rope for yet a moment--yet a moment--yet a moment! Some one tugged at it from above, then it suddenly gave way. I felt myself falling--I grasped at the cliff--I seemed to choke--and the world turned black about me. CHAPTER XV ROQUEFORT EXACTS A PROMISE I OPENED my eyes to find Fronsac bending over me. He had torn the clothing from my breast and had one hand above my heart. “It still beats!” he said. “Thank God, it still beats! We must get him to your father’s surgeon, Valérie.” To the surgeon! I had been hurt, then? And in an instant I remembered--the rope had been cut--I had fallen. Was I dying? The thought sent a shock through me. “Come, Fronsac,” I said. “What is it? How badly am I hurt?” He replied with a cry of joy. “Splendid! I feared that you were dead, my friend! Now let us see what bones are broken. Can you move yourself?” For answer I sat upright, then got unsteadily to my feet. They looked at me as at one risen from the dead. “But where is Roquefort?” I asked suddenly. “He has not escaped?”