'You know, I suppose, that today is the first of October and that my – that Monsieur Beaufort's trial is to begin this afternoon. Consequently, I am on my way to Paris, where I am to appear tomorrow as a witness.'
Marianne's hand clenched on a fistful of hay. In spite of all her resolution, it was all she could do not to fling herself on this woman who stood there talking of her husband's trial as if it were the most agreeable social occasion. How she longed to plunge the metal tine with which she hoped to gain her freedom deep into that proud and vicious heart. But Sanchez was standing by the door, his arms folded on his chest and his eye alert for trouble. Marianne knew that she would stand little chance in those great hands.
Pilar, meanwhile, was silent, scanning her rival's face, no doubt for some sign of the effect of her words. But Marianne, still keeping her face averted, yawned ostentatiously and perfectly naturally, then turned her back altogether. She had tried the effects of this dumb insolence once before, on the night of her abduction, and she hoped that the results would be the same. It was. Pilar, with a half-checked exclamation of anger, swung round and made quickly for the door.
'Very well, have it as you please!' she said, her voice shaking with rage. 'We shall see how you maintain this fine show of indifference when I come to tell you that your lover's head has fallen to the guillotine and show you a handkerchief dyed with his blood!'
Marianne gritted her teeth and shut her eyes, praying with all her might that anger should not get the better of her will. 'Have pity, Lord, have pity! Make her be quiet… make her go away! Be merciful! Give me the strength not to curse her! Help me to hold my tongue! I hate her… oh, God, how I hate her! Help me…'
Her mind raced desperately to and fro in an effort to find the one, safe refuge. Never had she endured or imagined anything like the strain of listening while this sadistic creature ruthlessly paraded Jason's deadly peril before her. As if she needed to be reminded! As if the dreadful threat had not been haunting her for weeks! She was dying to tell this woman what she thought of her melodramatic speeches, but she was determined to remain true to her vow of silence.
Pilar, however, in her desire to see the effect of her cruel words upon her enemy, had stepped closer. Marianne raised a face of stone and then, quite deliberately, spat in Pilar's face. Pilar stopped short and for a moment it seemed to Marianne that she was going to attack her, so dreadfully contorted was her face, and she waited for the attack with a savage joy, preparing to rend that hateful face in pieces. Then Sanchez spoke heavily from the doorway:
'The Señora will spoil her dress. And the carriage is waiting.'
'I am coming. But tomorrow, Sanchez, and the day after, you will forget to bring her any food or drink. Give her nothing until I return!'
'I understand.'
This time, their departure was final, attended by a scornful shrug from their prisoner. Tomorrow, with God's help, Marianne would be far away.
All the same, she had sense enough not to move until she had heard the rattle of the chain which told her that the boat had left. Pilar was going away. She was going to Paris to be revenged and Sanchez would not be back for – for two or three days, at least, thanks to Pilar's decree that Marianne should go hungry.
When she was quite sure that she was really alone, Marianne got out her metal spike and set to work on the padlock, hoping that she would be able to pick the lock. If she failed, she would have to attack the beam to which the chain was made fast by a ring, which would have to be gouged out. Forcing herself to be calm so as to keep her hands from trembling, Marianne probed slowly and patiently with her pointed tine in the keyhole of the padlock. It was not easy and for some time she thought that she must fail, for although the chain was new, the padlock was not. For what seemed like an eternity she went on fiddling. Then, at long last, she heard the blessed click and gave a glad little cry. The padlock was open.
Opening the jaws of the manacle round her wrist and taking it off was the work of a moment and Marianne was free. She nursed her painfully swollen wrist for a moment and then flung herself at full length in the hay and rolled about in an ecstasy of joy at the relief of stretching her cramped muscles which had suffered from her restricted movement. She was hot when eventually she sat up, but the blood coursed swiftly through her veins and she was ready for action. Her next task was to open the trap-door and find a way of getting out of the barn while there was still a little light to see by, for autumn was drawing on and the daylight was fading earlier now.
She cleared the trap-door again quickly. It was soon visible, looking very large and stout. It was sure to be heavy but there was a long loop of rope, passed through a pair of rings, to raise it by. Marianne grasped hold of this, gathered all her strength and pulled. The trap resisted but, endowed with a nervous strength made ten times greater by the spur of freedom, she tensed her muscles, set her jaw and went on pulling, regardless of the coarse rope that bit into the soft skin of her palms. Slowly, slowly, the trap came up, rose to a vertical position and fell back with a soft thud on the hay, leaving a gaping hole in the floor. Marianne knelt on the edge and looked down.
Below her stretched a huge barn, so lofty that for a moment she felt faintly dizzy as she looked. She had hoped to find a ladder fixed below the trap-door, which would have made the descent easy; but there was nothing. To jump was out of the question, unless she wanted to risk broken bones.
Marianne's heart beat wildly as she sat back on her heels and cast about feverishly for a rope, or anything that might help her to get down. Unfortunately, the chain which had held her for so long was far too short and the osier bindings of the bales far too weak to bear her weight. But such was her determination to be free of her prison that at last the idea she needed came to her. She could throw down the hay heaped in the loft until it made a mattress thick enough for her to jump on to.
Hurriedly, for already it was growing dark, she began heaving the hay through the open trap, breaking open the osier bindings on the great bales with the tine as she did so. In seconds, the barn was filled with a whirling storm of hay and dust. Some of the bales set others rolling as they were moved and a dozen times Marianne was nearly swept down through the hole, but gradually the floor of the barn began to disappear beneath a mounting heap of hay.
When she thought the pile was high enough, Marianne, feeling as if her throat were on fire, drained the little water remaining in the pitcher and ate her last apple. Then she sat down on the edge of the trap-door and let herself go.
She landed, bouncing like a ball but quite unhurt, and tumbled quickly to the bottom of the heap. She was on the ground at last. The next thing to find out was whether the barn door would open or whether she would have to resort once again to her pitchfork tine which, to be on the safe side, she had thrown down before she jumped. But either because they trusted in the prison they had made ready for her or because they did not wish to alarm any of the peasants of the estate who might be suspicious if they found an all but empty barn carefully locked, Marianne's captors had left the door on the latch.
Cautiously pushing open one side of the big door, which creaked only a very little, Marianne poked her head out and took a careful glance around. As far as she could see in what was now almost total darkness, there was not a soul about, although the great house, buried in the distant trees beyond the lake which stretched almost at her feet, was ablaze with light, to judge from the number of bright sparks twinkling through the intervening vegetation. At the same time, Marianne became aware that it was raining, something she had not perceived before amid the other preoccupations of the day.