And no wonder! Elizabeth was neatness personified, and her room was kept with exquisite care – but now, everything was in the greatest disorder... The drawers of her clothes-chest were piled one on top of the other in a corner of the room; their contents were thrown down in heaps a little way off; books had been cast pell-mell on a sofa; a great wicker trunk, wherein Elizabeth had packed numerous papers belonging to her brother, was overturned on the floor, the lid open.

Its contents were scattered near – a confused mass of documents and crumpled papers.

Elizabeth stared about her for a long minute, and again she cried:

“Oh, if only he would come! What is the meaning of all this?”

She regained her self-control. Her usual expression of serene gravity returned.

“To go to sleep,” she murmured. “That is the best thing. Tomorrow will come more quickly so – and, oh, I am so sleepy, so very, very tired!”

Soon Elizabeth blew out her lamp – darkness reigned in her room.

It was about half-past ten o’clock, and the light in Elizabeth Dollon’s room had been extinguished for some little while, when the front door of the little house was opened again...

Noiselessly, with infinite precautions, with searching and suspicious glances, taking care to keep off the gravel of the paths, tip-toeing on the grass edging the flower beds, where his steps made no sound, a man left the house and went towards the garden gate.

He quickly reached it; and there he commenced to whistle a soft, slow, monotonous, and continuous whistle.

Second followed second; then another whistle, identical in rhythm, replied; soon a voice asked:

“It’s you, Jules?”

“It is I, master!”

The man whom Jules named “master” was the stranger who, for two weary hours, had kept strict watch over the goings and comings of the house...

“All well, Jules?”

“All well, master!”

“And nothing new?”

“I don’t know about that, master: she has written a letter.” “To whom?”

“I couldn’t say... I could not see the address, master.”

“You red-headed idiot!”

The servant protested.

“No, it was not my fault!... She did not write in the drawing-room, but in her own room... I couldn’t get a squint at her paper!”

“Did she not say anything?”

“Nothing.”

“Did she look upset?”

“A little.”

“No one suspects anything?”

“I hope not, master!... Gods and little fishes, if anyone suspected!”

The visitor’s voice grew harsh, imperious.

“Enough,” he said. “We have no time to lose!”

“How? No time.” .

‘That’s it! We must set to work.”

“Work?... Now?... This very night?... Oh, master, surely not!”

“You think I’m joking? Do you imagine that I arranged a meeting, only for the pleasure of talking to you?

Come on, now!... March!”

“What are we to do?”

A moment’s silence.

“I cannot see the house very well, because of the branches listen – look!... Isn’t there a light? Someone still up?”