All this time Lecamus had said nothing.  As I raised myself from the ground, I had vaguely perceived him hanging up the lantern where it had been before; now he became distinct to me as I recovered the full possession of my faculties.  He had seated himself upon a bench by the wall.  There was no agitation about him; no sign of the thrill of departing excitement, which I felt going through my veins as through the strings of a harp.  He was sitting against the wall, with his head drooping, his eyes cast down, an air of disappointment and despondency about him—­nothing more.  I got up as soon as I felt that I could go away with perfect propriety; but, before I left the place, called him.  He got up when he heard his name, but he did it with reluctance.  He came with me because I asked him to do so, not from any wish of his own.  Very different were the feelings of Riou and Gallais.  They did their utmost to engage me in conversation, to consult me about a hundred trifles, to ask me with the greatest deference what they ought to do in such and such cases, pressing close to me, trying every expedient to delay my departure.  When we went away they stood at the door of their little office close together, looking after us with looks which I found it difficult to forget; they would not abandon their post; but their faces were pale and contracted, their eyes wild with anxiety and distress.

It was only as I walked away, hearing my own steps and those of Lecamus ringing upon the pavement, that I began to realise what had happened.  The effort of recovering my composure, the relief from the extreme excitement of terror (which, dreadful as the idea is, I am obliged to confess I had actually felt), the sudden influx of life and strength to my brain, had pushed away for the moment the recollection of what lay outside.  When I thought of it again, the blood began once more to course in my veins.  Lecamus went on by my side with his head down, the eyelids drooping over his eyes, not saying a word.  He followed me when I called him:  but cast a regretful look at the postern by which we had gone out, through which I had dragged him back in a panic (I confess it) unworthy of me.  Only when we had left at some distance behind us that door into the unseen, did my senses come fully back to me, and I ventured to ask myself what it meant.  ‘Lecamus,’ I said—­I could scarcely put my question into words—­’what do you think? what is your idea?—­how do you explain—­’ Even then I am glad to think I had sufficient power of control not to betray all that I felt.

‘One does not try to explain,’ he said slowly; ’one longs to know—­that is all.  If M. le Maire had not been—­in such haste—­had he been willing to go farther—­to investigate——­’

‘God forbid!’ I said; and the impulse to quicken my steps, to get home and put myself in safety, was almost more than I could restrain.  But I forced myself to go quietly, to measure my steps by his, which were slow and reluctant, as if he dragged himself away with difficulty from that which was behind.