He replied, “It is not necessary to enter there.”

“I will enter there, myself, nevertheless,” said she, and she set her teeth.

He barred her way with his arms spread out.

“If you hold the life of someone dear,” said he, “don’t go a step farther.”

“But the person is in that chamber.  The person is there!  It is there you will find out!” And she waved him aside with a gesture as though she were sleepwalking.

To recall her to the reality of what he had said to her and to make her understand what he desired, he had to grip her wrist in the vice of his nervous hand.

“The person is not there, perfhaps,” he said his head.  “Understand me now.”

But she did not understand him.  She said: 

“Since the person is nowhere else, the person must be there.”

But Rouletabille continued obstinately: 

“No, no.  Perhaps he is gone.”

“Gone!  And everything locked on the inside!”

“That is not a reason,” he replied.

But she could not follow his thoughts any further.  She wished absolutely to make her way into Natacha’s chamber.  The obsession of that was upon her.

“If you enter there,” said he, “and if (as is most probable) you don’t find what you seek there, all is lost!  And as to me, I give up the whole thing.”

She sank in a heap onto a chair.

“Don’t despair,” he murmured.  “We don’t know for sure yet.”

She shook her poor old head dejectedly.

“We know that only she is here, since no one has been able to enter and since no one has been able to leave.”

That, in truth, filled her brain, prevented her from discerning in any corner of her mind the thought of Rouletabille.  Then the impossible dialogue resumed.

“I repeat that we do not know but that the person has gone,” repeated the reporter, and demanded her keys.

“Foolish,” she said.  “What do you want them for?”

“To search outside as we have searched inside.”

“Why, everything is locked on the inside!”

“Madame, once more, that is no reason that the person may not be outside.”

He consumed five minutes opening the door of the veranda, so many were his precautions.  She watched him impatiently.

He whispered to her: 

“I am going out, but don’t you lose sight of the little sitting-room.  At the least movement call me; fire a revolver if you need to.”

He slipped into the garden with the same precautions for silence.  From the corner that she kept to, through the doors left open, Matrena could follow all the movements of the reporter and watch Natacha’s chamber at the same time.  The attitude of Rouletabille continued to confuse her beyond all expression.  She watched what he did as if she thought him besotted.  The dyernick on guard out in the roadway also watched the young man through the bars of the gate in consternation,