“You will go,” said he, “and take your mattress into the corner of the dressing-room where you can still see the door but no one can see you by looking through the key-hole.  Do that quite naturally, and then go to your rest.  I will pass the night on the mattress, and I beg you to believe that I will be more comfortable there than on a bed of staircase wood where I spent the night last night, behind the door.”

“Yes, but you will fall asleep.  I don’t wish that.”

“What are you thinking, madame?”

“I don’t wish it.  I don’t wish it.  I don’t wish to quit the door where the eye is.  And since I’m not able to sleep, let me watch.”

He did not insist, and they crouched together on the mattress.  Rouletabille was squatted like a tailor at work; but Matrena remained on all-fours, her jaw out, her eyes fixed, like a bulldog ready to spring.  The minutes passed by in profound silence, broken only by the irregular breathing and puffing of the general.  His face stood out pallid and tragic on the pillow; his mouth was open and, at times, the lips moved.  There was fear at any moment of nightmare or his awakening.  Unconsciously he threw an arm over toward the table where the glass of narcotic stood.  Then he lay still again and snored lightly.  The night-lamp on the mantelpiece caught queer yellow reflections from the corners of the furniture, from the gilded frame of a picture on the wall and from the phials and glasses on the table.  But in all the chamber Matrena Petrovna saw nothing, thought of nothing but the brass bolt which shone there on the door.  Tired of being on her knees, she shifted, her chin in her hands, her gaze steadily fixed.  As time passed and nothing happened she heaved a sigh.  She could not have said whether she hoped for or dreaded the coming of that something new which Rouletabille had indicated.  Rouletabille felt her shiver with anguish and impatience.

As for him, he had not hoped that anything would come to pass until toward dawn, the moment, as everyone knows, when deep sleep is most apt to vanquish all watchfulness and all insomnia.  And as he waited for that moment he had not budged any more than a Chinese ape or the dear little porcelain domovoi doukh in the garden.  Of course it might be that it was not to happen this night.

Suddenly Matrena’s hand fell on Rouletabille’s.  His imprisoned hers so firmly that she understood she was forbidden to make the least movement.  And both, with necks extended, ears erect, watched like beasts, like beasts on the scent.

Yes, yes, there had been a slight noise in the lock.  A key turned, softly, softly, in the lock, and then — silence; and then another little noise, a grinding sound, a slight grating of wire, above, then on the bolt; upon the bolt which shone in the subdued glow of the night-lamp.  The bolt softly, very softly, slipped slowly.

Then the door was pushed slowly, so slowly.  It opened.