“To commit murder, is a hopeful way of escaping the gallows!” said the
first ruffian—“many an honest fellow has run his head into the noose
that way, though.” There was a pause of some moments, during which they
appeared to be considering. “Confound those fellows,” exclaimed one of the robbers impatiently,
“they ought to have been here by this time; they will come back
presently with the old story, and no booty: if they were here, our
business would be plain and easy. I see we shall not be able to do the
business tonight, for our numbers are not equal to the enemy, and in
the morning they will be for marching off, and how can we detain them
without force?”

“I have been thinking of a scheme, that will do,” said one of his
comrades: “if we can dispatch the two chevaliers silently, it will be
easy to master the rest.”

“That’s a plausible scheme, in good faith,” said another with a smile
of scorn—“If I can eat my way through the prison wall, I shall be at
liberty!—How can we dispatch them _silently?_”

“By poison,” replied his companions. “Well said! that will do,” said the second ruffian, “that will give a
lingering death too, and satisfy my revenge. These barons shall take
care how they again tempt our vengeance.”

“I knew the son, the moment I saw him,” said the man, whom Blanche had
observed gazing on St. Foix, “though he does not know me; the father I
had almost forgotten.”

“Well, you may say what you will,” said the third ruffian, “but I don’t
believe he is the Baron, and I am as likely to know as any of you, for
I was one of them, that attacked him, with our brave lads, that
suffered.”

“And was not I another?” said the first ruffian, “I tell you he is the
Baron; but what does it signify whether he is or not?—shall we let all
this booty go out of our hands? It is not often we have such luck at
this. While we run the chance of the wheel for smuggling a few pounds
of tobacco, to cheat the king’s manufactory, and of breaking our necks
down the precipices in the chace of our food; and, now and then, rob a
brother smuggler, or a straggling pilgrim, of what scarcely repays us
the powder we fire at them, shall we let such a prize as this go? Why
they have enough about them to keep us for—”

“I am not for that, I am not for that,” replied the third robber, “let
us make the most of them: only, if this is the Baron, I should like to
have a flash the more at him, for the sake of our brave comrades, that
he brought to the gallows.”

“Aye, aye, flash as much as you will,” rejoined the first man, “but I
tell you the Baron is a taller man.”

“Confound your quibbling,” said the second ruffian, “shall we let them
go or not? If we stay here much longer, they will take the hint, and
march off without our leave. Let them be who they will, they are rich,
or why all those servants? Did you see the ring, he, you call the
Baron, had on his finger?—it was a diamond; but he has not got it on
now: he saw me looking at it, I warrant, and took it off.”

“Aye, and then there is the picture; did you see that? She has not
taken that off,” observed the first ruffian, “it hangs at her neck; if
it had not sparkled so, I should not have found it out, for it was
almost hid by her dress; those are diamonds too, and a rare many of
them there must be, to go round such a large picture.”

“But how are we to manage this business?” said the second ruffian: “let
us talk of that, there is no fear of there being booty enough, but how
are we to secure it?”

“Aye, aye,” said his comrades, “let us talk of that, and remember no
time is to be lost.”

“I am still for poison,” observed the third, “but consider their
number; why there are nine or ten of them, and armed too; when I saw so
many at the gate, I was not for letting them in, you know, nor you
either.”

“I thought they might be some of our enemies,” replied the second, “I
did not so much mind numbers.”

“But you must mind them now,” rejoined his comrade, “or it will be
worse for you. We are not more than six, and how can we master ten by
open force? I tell you we must give some of them a dose, and the rest
may then be managed.”

“I’ll tell you a better way,” rejoined the other impatiently, “draw
closer.”

Blanche, who had listened to this conversation, in an agony, which it
would be impossible to describe, could no longer distinguish what was
said, for the ruffians now spoke in lowered voices; but the hope, that
she might save her friends from the plot, if she could find her way
quickly to them, suddenly reanimated her spirits, and lent her strength
enough to turn her steps in search of the gallery. Terror, however, and
darkness conspired against her, and, having moved a few yards, the
feeble light, that issued from the chamber, no longer even contended
with the gloom, and, her foot stumbling over a step that crossed the
passage, she fell to the ground. The noise startled the banditti, who became suddenly silent, and then
all rushed to the passage, to examine whether any person was there, who
might have overheard their councils. Blanche saw them approaching, and
perceived their fierce and eager looks: but, before she could raise
herself, they discovered and seized her, and, as they dragged her
towards the chamber they had quitted, her screams drew from them
horrible threatenings. Having reached the room, they began to consult what they should do with
her. “Let us first know what she had heard,” said the chief robber. “How long have you been in the passage, lady, and what brought you
there?”

“Let us first secure that picture,” said one of his comrades,
approaching the trembling Blanche. “Fair lady, by your leave that
picture is mine; come, surrender it, or I shall seize it.”

Blanche, entreating their mercy, immediately gave up the miniature,
while another of the ruffians fiercely interrogated her, concerning
what she had overheard of their conversation, when, her confusion and
terror too plainly telling what her tongue feared to confess, the
ruffians looked expressively upon one another, and two of them withdrew
to a remote part of the room, as if to consult further. “These are diamonds, by St. Peter!” exclaimed the fellow, who had been
examining the miniature, “and here is a very pretty picture too,
“faith; as handsome a young chevalier, as you would wish to see by a
summer’s sun. Lady, this is your spouse, I warrant, for it is the
spark, that was in your company just now.”

Blanche, sinking with terror, conjured him to have pity on her, and,
delivering him her purse, promised to say nothing of what had passed,
if he would suffer her to return to her friends. He smiled ironically, and was going to reply, when his attention was
called off by a distant noise; and, while he listened, he grasped the
arm of Blanche more firmly, as if he feared she would escape from him,
and she again shrieked for help. The approaching sounds called the ruffians from the other part of the
chamber.