“There is no doing anything with the gentlemen,” said Ralph to himself. “The verdict is fixed. Dead men tell no tales. The drowning will take place, for it seems quite clear that that is the solution on which he is resolved.” Beaumagnan sat down behind the other conspirators. But before sitting down he said in cold and measured tones: “You know, my friends, to what a degree this hour is serious for us. All of us, in complete agreement and of one mind about the magnificent end which we wish to accomplish, have undertaken a common task of immense importance. It appears to us, and rightly, that the interests of our country, those of our party, and those of our religion--I do not separate the one from the other--are linked with the success of our schemes. Now these schemes have for some time been brought up short by the audacious and implacable hostility of a woman, who, being in possession of certain evidence, has set herself to discover the secret which we are on the very point of discovering. If she discovers it before we do, it means that all our efforts have been wasted, utterly. Her or us: there is no room for the two. Let us pray earnestly that the struggle in which we are engaged may be decided in our favor!” He sat down, and resting his two arms on the back of a chair, bent his tall figure as if he wished to remain unseen. Some minutes passed. The silence of these men met together for reasons which should have excited them to lively converse, was absolute, so keenly was the attention of all fixed on the distant noises which came from the surrounding country. The capture of this woman obsessed their minds. They were in a hurry to hold and to see their adversary. The Baron d’Etigues raised his hand. They began to catch the dull rhythm of a horse’s hoofs. “It is my brougham,” he said. Yes: but was their enemy inside it? The Baron rose and went to the door. As usual the Park was empty, since the servants’ work kept them busy in the court-yard in front of the château. The sound of hoofs grew louder. The carriage left the high road and came along the lane. Then it suddenly appeared between the two pillars of the entrance to the Park. The driver waved a reassuring hand; and the Baron exclaimed: “Victory! They’ve got her!” The brougham stopped at the door. D’Ormont, who was driving it, jumped smartly down. Rufus d’Estiers stepped out of it. With the help of the Baron they drew from the interior a woman whose wrists and ankles were bound. A gauze scarf covered her face. They carried her to the church bench which stood in the middle of the chamber. “Not the least difficulty,” said d’Ormont in a tone of triumph. “She came straight out of the train and stepped into the brougham. At the cross-roads we tied her up before she had time to let out more than two squeals.” “Remove that scarf,” said the Baron; and as d’Ormont stooped to do so, he added: “After all, we may as well restore her freedom of movement. We have her safe.”