Poor Isabelle, furious and frightened though she was, could not but acknowledge to herself that further physical resistance then would be worse than useless, and determined to spare herself at least such indignities as she was at that moment threatened with; so, without vouchsafing a word to her attendant, she threw herself back into the corner of the carriage, closed her eyes, and tried to keep perfectly still.  But in spite of her utmost endeavours she could not altogether repress an occasional sob, nor hold back the great tears that welled forth from under her drooping eyelids and rolled down over her pale cheeks, as she thought of de Sigognac’s despair and her own danger.

“After the nervous excitement comes the moist stage;” said her masked guardian to himself, “things are following their usual and natural course.  I am very glad of it, for I should have greatly disliked to be obliged to act a brutal part with such a sweet, charming girl as this.”

Now and then Isabelle opened her eyes and cast a timid glance at her abductor, who finally said to her, in a voice he vainly strove to render soft and mild: 

“You need not be afraid of me, mademoiselle!  I would not harm you in any way for the world.  If fortune had been more generous to me I certainly would never have undertaken this enterprise against such a lovely, gentle young lady as you are; but poor men like me are driven to all sorts of expedients to earn a little money; they have to take whatever comes within their reach, and sacrifice their scruples to their necessities.”

“You do admit then,” said Isabelle vehemently, “that you have been bribed to carry me off?  An infamous, cruel, outrageous thing it is.”

“After what I have had to do,” he replied, “it would be idle to deny it.  There are a good many philosophers like myself in Paris, mademoiselle, who, instead of indulging in love affairs, and intrigues of various sorts, of their own, interest themselves in those of other people, and, for a consideration, make use of their courage, ingenuity and strength to further them.  But to change the subject, how charming you were in that last new play!  You went through the scene of the avowal with a grace I have never seen equalled.  I applauded you to the echo; the pair of hands that kept it up so perseveringly and vigorously, you know, belonged to me.”

“I beg you to dispense with these ill-judged remarks and compliments, and to tell me where you are taking me, in this strange, outrageous manner, against my will, and, in despite of all the ordinary usages of civilized society.”

“I cannot tell you that, mademoiselle, and besides, it would do you no sort of good to know.  In our profession, you see, we are obliged to observe as much secrecy and discretion as confessors and physicians.  Indeed, in such affairs as this we often do not know the names of the parties we are working for ourselves.”

“Do you mean to say that you do not know who has employed you to commit this abominable, cruel crime?”