Oliver watched him until he reached the bottom of the steps and passed out from the house into the night beyond; there was the bang of a closing door, and then dead silence. The next moment Oliver was at the door of the room wherein Céleste was confined. "Céleste!" he screamed, "for God's sake, come! Leave this awful place!" "What is it?" answered Céleste from within. "Am I then saved?" "Yes," cried Oliver, in the same shrill voice, "you are saved! But come! come!" "But the door," said Céleste. "It is locked, Oliver." "Ah, peste! I had forgotten. Stand away from it." As he spoke, he rushed against the door, flinging himself bodily upon it. It shook, but did not open. Again he dashed himself against it, and this time with better success. The lock snapped, and as it flew open inward Oliver plunged headlong into the room beyond. Céleste stood, white and terrified, in the middle of the floor. "But am I indeed saved?" said she. "Where, then, is Monsieur de St. Germaine?" "Do not ask me, Céleste," cried Oliver, hoarsely. "Come!" As they passed through the room beyond, Céleste looked up into his face. "What is it?" she cried. "What has happened, Oliver? Tell me." But Oliver could not answer; he only shook his head. Upon the landing without, Céleste suddenly stopped and laid her hand upon his arm. "Hark!" said she. "What is that?" Oliver listened breathlessly. A dull, monotonous sobbing sounded through the house. It came from the apartment above. "Oh, Oliver!" cried Céleste, "go and see what it is." Oliver shook his head. "I cannot go," said he, huskily. "I am afraid. You do not know, Céleste, what an awful place this is! If you had seen what I have just beheld--" "But you must go," said Céleste; "perhaps it is another in trouble like myself. I will wait for you here, Oliver; I am not afraid." Oliver could not resist such an appeal; he turned, and began heavily ascending the stairs to the floor above. A door at a little distance stood ajar; it was thence that the monotonous sounds came. He advanced hesitatingly towards it, and reaching out his hand, pushed it, and it gaped slowly open upon the room beyond. Oliver only looked within for a moment, and then turned and walked stupidly away, but what he saw in that one glance was impressed upon his mind in an image never to be erased. Tables and chairs were overturned; books lay torn and scattered upon the floor. In the middle of the room sat the woman whom he had first seen in the moonlit street at Flourens, and her pale, vacant eyes were fixed blankly upon him. Her white lips were slightly parted, but there was never a twitch upon the face that uttered those monotonous sobs that sounded dully through the silence.