"I see you didn't. I may be bulky, but I'm active and can move quietly," and he gave a chuckle. Edmé thought him even more repulsive than at the time of his visit to the prison. His face seemed coarser and more inflamed, and his eyes, so dull and heavy before, shone as if animated by drink. "Where are they taking those poor people?" she asked; "for I presume those are prison boats." "They are," was the reply in a thick utterance. "Just like this. Are you sure that you want to know where they are being taken?" "Would I have asked you otherwise?" "Are you sure you won't faint?" Edmé gave a shrug of contempt. She saw that he was trying to work upon her fears, and felt her spirit rise in antagonism. The look of admiration that he gave her was more offensive than his pretended sympathy. Leaning forward he whispered, "They are going down the river for about two miles. There they will get rid of their troublesome freight and return empty." "What do you mean?" asked Edmé. "Where do they land the prisoners?" "They don't land them, they water them," and he gave a low, inward laugh. "They drown every prisoner on board. Tie them together in couples, man and woman, and tumble them overboard by the score." Edmé gave a cry of horror. "It is too horrible to be true. I don't believe it!" "Why not?" asked Leboeuf; "drowning is an easy death, and every one of them has been fairly and honestly condemned. This boat is to follow in its turn. Every prisoner here has looked upon the sun for the last time, though not one of them knows just when he is to die." The idea of such wholesale murder seemed so utterly impossible to her that in her mind she set down Leboeuf's whole account as a fiction of his drink-besotted brain, called up to frighten her. Yet at the moment when she turned from him in disgust to look out of the window, she saw that their own vessel had begun to move slowly through the water. "We have started," said Leboeuf, as if he were mentioning a matter of the smallest consequence. "You say that every one upon this boat is a condemned person," said Edmé quietly, repressing her terror with an effort. Leboeuf nodded. "But I am not. I have not even had a hearing." "No?" exclaimed Leboeuf in a tone of surprise. "Then those jailers have made another mistake." Edmé advanced toward him one step, and in a tone which made the huge man draw back, said:-- "I was brought here by your order!" "Oh, no, I knew nothing of the change. It was that villain Potin." "I was brought here by your order," she repeated. "I demand that I be taken where I can have a trial." "Potin has made another mistake," was all Leboeuf would vouchsafe in reply. "If there has been any mistake, it is yours. I demand that you set it right." "It is too late!" "There must be some one aboard this vessel who has the power to do it, if you have not. I will go and appeal for aid," and she took a step toward the door.