"But you're mad! _I_ consent, _I_? . . . Why, the man saved my life! . . . He saved Coralie!" "But he's doing for her now. Think a moment: if he were not there, if he were not interfering, Coralie would be free. Do you accept?" "No." "Why not? Do you know what that man is? A highway robber . . . a wretch who has only one thought, to get hold of the millions. And you have scruples! Come, it's absurd, isn't it? . . . Do you accept?" "No and again no!" "Then so much the worse for Coralie. . . . Oh, yes, I see you don't realize the position exactly! It's time you did, Patrice. Perhaps it's even too late." "Oh, don't say that!" "Yes, yes, you must learn the facts and take your share of the responsibility. When that damned negro was chasing me, I got rid of Coralie as best I could, intending to release her in an hour or two. And then . . . and then you know what happened. . . . It was eleven o'clock at night . . . nearly eight hours ago. . . . So work it out for yourself . . ." Patrice wrung his hands. Never had he imagined that a man could be tortured to such a degree. And Siméon continued, unrelentingly. "She can't breathe, on my soul she can't! . . . Perhaps just a very little air reaches her, but that is all. . . . Then again I can't tell that all that covers and protects her hasn't given way. If it has, she's suffocating . . . while you stand here arguing. . . . Look here, can it matter to you to lock up that man for ten minutes? . . . Only ten minutes, you know. And you still hesitate! Then it's you who are killing her, Patrice. Think . . . buried alive!" Patrice drew himself up. His resolve was taken. At that moment he would have shrunk from no act, however painful. And what Siméon asked was so little. "What do you want me to do?" he asked. "Give your orders." "You know what I want," said the other. "It's quite simple. Go to the door, bolt it and come back again." The officer entered the lodge with a firm step and walked through the hall. The light was dancing up and down at the far end of the studio. Without a word, without a moment's hesitation, he slammed the door, shot both the bolts and hastened back. He felt relieved. The action was a base one, but he never doubted that he had fulfilled an imperative duty. "That's it," he said, "Let's hurry." "Help me up," said the old man. "I can't manage by myself." Patrice took him under the armpits and lifted him to his feet. But he had to support him, for the old man's legs were swaying beneath him. "Oh, curse it!" blurted Siméon. "That blasted nigger has done for me. I'm suffocating too, I can't walk." Patrice almost carried him, while Siméon, in the last stage of weakness, stammered: "This way. . . . Now straight ahead. . . ." They passed the corner of the lodge and turned their steps towards the graves.