The task was a long and painful one which raised a great deal of dust and made her very tired, but on the third day Marianne found two very large hinges set in the woodwork: irrefutable proof that the trap-door existed.

It was almost time for Sanchez to pay his daily visit and so, hurriedly covering up her find, Marianne went and flung herself down in her usual place in the straw and pretended to be asleep. The Spaniard performed his tasks as usual and then withdrew. Marianne devoured a hunk of bread and a piece of meat, drank a mug of water and returned to her excavations. Gradually, the whole trap-door was revealed. It was certainly a very large one, which explained the size of the hay bales, but the prisoner was unable to suppress a groan of dismay when she saw that her chain was too short to allow her to clear it completely.

Bitterly disappointed by this discovery, she dropped down on her knees in the hay and cried with despair at all her wasted labour. It made no difference to know that her chain still held her fast to the beam. She had cherished absurd hopes of that trap-door. Well, she knew now that it was there, and at the same time that it was useless to her… Her back ached and her hands were grimed with dirt and rubbed raw with splinters but all the same she began at last, mechanically, to cover up the floor again. It was then she felt it, something hard that moved under her fingers.

After some frantic fumbling in the hay she drew out a long, thin piece of metal, sharpened to a point at one end, and stared at it as if she could not believe her eyes. It was the tine of a pitchfork, which must have broken off when the hay was being stacked and been thought not worth recovering. A tool beyond her wildest dreams.

Marianne shut her eyes and offered up a silent prayer of thankfulness. With this, it must surely be possible to get the better of the padlock, when she recalled that Pilar had been afraid of what she might do with a mere hairpin.

She was on the point of going to work with her metal picklock there and then but at that moment she heard footsteps on the other side of the partition wall. Sanchez was coming back, but this time he was not alone. Marianne heard, as usual, the sound of the bales of straw being dragged aside and, hurriedly recovering the trapdoor, turned to hide her new tool by burying it deeply in the hay. Then, to make doubly sure, she sat down on the place where she had hidden it and began nonchalantly chewing a straw, conscious of a beating heart and hoping that the joy she felt did not show too clearly on her face. It was Pilar who entered.

Jason's wife was dressed all in black, although there was nothing out of the ordinary in this since she invariably dressed so or, when she did permit herself a colour, always accompanied it with a sombre veil or other dark accessories. On this occasion, however, she was wearing a bonnet with a deep poke from which fell a veil of very fine Chantilly lace. She walked up to Marianne, who had not turned at her entrance:

'Well, my dear? How do you feel after so many days of reflection?'

Determined not to utter a word, Marianne did not stir. Pilar continued, as if the interview were the most natural thing in the world:

'I hope you have everything you require. You look well enough, to be sure, and Sanchez tells me that your behaviour is perfectly quiet. However, I felt it right to come and bid you farewell…'

This time, it took all Marianne's self-control to keep herself from betraying the least start of surprise. Pilar was going away? It might be good news. Was it possible, after all, that today was her lucky day? She continued to chew on her straw as coolly as if Pilar had not existed. All she wanted now was for the woman to go away and let her get on with her preparations for an escape which had suddenly come within the bounds of possibility. Pilar, however, seemed in no hurry. She was taking a jasmine-scented handkerchief from her reticule and holding it to her nose, as if the smell in the loft offended her.

'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.