Marquis de St. Genis is not two hundred metres away,
equally secure and equally safe. Here, le Bossu," he added, calling out
into the night, "ease the gag round your prisoner's mouth a little so
that he may speak to the ladies."

While Madame la Duchesse groped her way along in the direction whence
came sounds of stirring, groaning and not a little cursing which
proclaimed the presence of some men held captive by others, Crystal
remained beside the carriage door as if rooted to the spot. The feeble
light of the lanthorn had shown her at a glance that the masked
miscreant had taken every precaution for the success of his nefarious
purpose. How many men he had with him altogether, she could not of
course ascertain: half a dozen perhaps, seeing that her father, the
coachman and two postillions had been overpowered and were being closely
guarded, whilst she distinctly saw that two men at least were standing
behind their chief at this moment in order to ward off any possible
attack against him from the rear, while he himself was engaged in the
infamous task of robbing the coach of its contents.

Crystal saw him start to work in a most methodical manner. He had stood
the lanthorn on the floor of the carriage and was turning over every
cushion and ransacking every pocket. The leather wallets which he found,
he examined with utmost coolness, seeing indeed that they were stuffed
full of banknotes and drafts. His huge caped coat appeared to have
immense pockets, into which those precious wallets disappeared one by
one.

She knew of course that resistance was useless: the occasional glint of
the feeble lanthorn light upon the pistols held by the men close beside
her taught her the salutary lesson of silence and dignity. She clenched
her hands until her nails were almost driven into the flesh of her
palms, and her face now glowed with a fierce and passionate resentment.
This money which might have saved the King and France from the immediate
effects of the usurper's invasion was now the booty of a common thief!
Wild thoughts of vengeance coursed through her brain: she felt like a
tiger-cat that was being robbed of its young. Once--unable to control
herself--she made a wild dash forward, determined to fight for her
treasure, to scratch or to bite--to do anything in fact rather than
stand by and see this infamous spoliation. But immediately her hands
were seized, and an ominous word of command rang out weirdly through the
night.