“No, Chief.”

“Well, you know what he prophesied.  That means that he had his reasons for doing so.  And therefore I shall keep my eyes open.”

“We’ll take it in turns, Chief; wake me when it’s my time to watch.”

Seated motionlessly, side by side, they exchanged an occasional remark.  Soon after, Mazeroux fell asleep.  Don Luis remained in his chair without moving, his ears pricked up.  Everything was quiet in the house.  Outside, from time to time, the sound of a motor car or of a cab rolled by.  He could also hear the late trains on the Auteuil line.

He rose several times and went up to the door.  Not a sound.  Hippolyte Fauville was evidently asleep.

“Capital!” said Perenna to himself.  “The boulevard is watched.  No one can enter the room except by this way.  So there is nothing to fear.”

At two o’clock in the morning a car stopped outside the house, and one of the manservants, who must have been waiting in the kitchen, hastened to the front door.  Perenna switched off the light in the passage, and, drawing the curtain slightly aside, saw Mme. Fauville enter, followed by Silvestre.

She went up.  The lights on the staircase were put out.  For half an hour or so there was a sound overhead of voices and of chairs moving.  Then all was silence.

And, amid this silence, Perenna felt an unspeakable anguish arise within him, he could not tell why.  But it was so violent, the impression became so acute, that he muttered: 

“I shall go and see if he’s asleep.  I don’t expect that he has bolted the doors.”

He had only to push both doors to open them; and, with his electric lantern in his hand, he went up to the bed.  Hippolyte Fauville was sleeping with his face turned to the wall.

Perenna gave a smile of relief.  He returned to the passage and, shaking Mazeroux: 

“Your turn, Alexandre.”

“No news, Chief?”

“No, none; he’s asleep.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve had a look at him.”

“That’s funny; I never heard you.  It’s true, though, I’ve slept like a pig.”

He followed Perenna into the study, and Perenna said: 

“Sit down and don’t wake him.  I shall take forty winks.”

He had one more turn at sentry duty.  But, even while dozing, he remained conscious of all that happened around him.  A clock struck the hours with a low chime; and each time Perenna counted the strokes.  Then came the life outside awakening, the rattle of the milk-carts, the whistle of the early suburban trains.

People began to stir inside the house.  The daylight trickled in through the crannies of the shutters, and the room gradually became filled with light.

“Let’s go away,” said Sergeant Mazeroux.  “It would be better for him not to find us here.”

“Hold your tongue!” said Don Luis, with an imperious gesture.