He went to his room, undressed and got into bed. He fell asleep at once, with a heavy sleep disturbed by nightmares. Twice he woke and tried to light his candle and twice fell back, as though stunned by a blow. Nevertheless, he heard the hours strike on the village clock, or rather he thought that he heard them strike, for he was plunged in a sort of torpor in which he seemed to retain all his wits. And he was haunted by dreams, dreams of anguish and terror. He plainly heard the sound of his window opening. He plainly, through his closed eyelids, through the thick darkness, _saw_ a form come toward the bed. And the form bent over him. He made the incredible effort needed to raise his eyelids and look . . . or, at least, he imagined that he did. Was he dreaming? Was he awake? He asked himself the question in despair. A further sound. . . . He took up the box of matches by his bedside: "Let's have a light on it," he said, with a great sense of elation. He struck a match and lit the candle. Lupin felt the perspiration stream over his skin, from head to foot, while his heart ceased beating, stopped with terror. _The man was there._ Was it possible? No, no . . . and yet he _saw_. . . . Oh, the fearsome sight! . . . The man, the monster, was there. . . . "He shall not . . . he shall not," stammered Lupin madly. The man, the monster was there, dressed in black, with a mask on his face and with his felt hat pulled down over his fair hair. "Oh, I am dreaming. . . . I am dreaming!" said Lupin, laughing. "It's a nightmare! . . ." Exerting all his strength and all his will-power, he tried to make a movement, one movement, to drive away the vision. He could not. And, suddenly, he remembered: the coffee! The taste of it . . . similar to the taste of the coffee which he had drunk at Veldenz! He gave a cry, made a last effort and fell back exhausted. But, in his delirium, he felt that the man was unfastening the top button of his pajama-jacket and baring his neck, felt that the man was raising his arm, saw that the hand was clutching the handle of a dagger, a little steel dagger similar to that which had struck Kesselbach, Chapman, Altenheim and so many others. . . . * * * * * A few hours later, Lupin woke up, shattered with fatigue, with a scorched palate. He lay for several minutes collecting his thoughts and, suddenly, remembering, made an instinctive defensive movement, as though he were being attacked: "Fool that I am!" he cried, jumping out of bed. "It was a nightmare, an hallucination. It only needs a little reflection. Had it been 'he,' had it really been a man, in flesh and blood, who lifted his hand against me last night, he would have cut my throat like a rabbit's. 'He' doesn't hesitate. Let's be logical. Why should he spare me? For the sake of my good looks? No, I have been dreaming, that's all. . . ."