Through the open window, he gazed into the immense, cool night, all astir with indistinct sounds. Memories rose to his lips, memories of fond phrases which he had read or uttered; and he repeatedly whispered Dolores's name, with the fervor of a stripling who hardly dares confide to the silence the name of his beloved. He left the window half open, pushed aside a table that blocked the way, and put his revolvers under his pillow. Then, peacefully, without evincing the least excitement, he got into bed, fully dressed as he was, and blew out the candle. _And his fear began._ It was immediate. No sooner did he feel the darkness around him than his fear began! "Damn it all!" he cried. He jumped out of bed, took his weapons and threw them into the passage: "My hands, my hands alone! Nothing comes up to the grip of my hands!" He went to bed again. Darkness and silence, once more. And, once more, his fear. . . . * * * * * The village clock struck twelve. . . . Lupin thought of the foul monster who, outside, at a hundred yards, at fifty yards from where he lay, was trying the sharp point of his dagger: "Let him come, let him come?" whispered Lupin, shuddering. "Then the ghosts will vanish. . . ." * * * * * One o'clock, in the village. . . . And minutes passed, endless minutes, minutes of fever and anguish. . . . Beads of perspiration stood at the roots of his hair and trickled down his forehead; and he felt as though his whole frame were bathed in a sweat of blood. . . . Two o'clock. . . . And now, somewhere, quite close, a hardly perceptible sound stirred, a sound of leaves moving . . . but different from the sound of leaves moving in the night breeze. . . . As Lupin had foreseen, he was at once pervaded by an immense calm. All his adventurous being quivered with delight. The struggle was at hand, at last! Another sound grated under the window, more plainly this time, but still so faint that it needed Lupin's trained ear to distinguish it. Minutes, terrifying minutes. . . . The darkness was impenetrable. No light of star or moon relieved it. And, suddenly, without hearing anything, he _knew_ that the man was in the room. And the man walked toward the bed. He walked as a ghost walks, without displacing the air of the room, without shaking the objects which he touched. But, with all his instinct, with all his nervous force, Lupin saw the movements of the enemy and guessed the very sequence of his ideas. He himself did not budge, but remained propped against the wall, almost on his knees, ready to spring.