Ten o'clock struck. He listened. It seemed as if he had been there years. Then, he waited bewildered. Having found bread and fruit under his hand, he ate avidly, with a gnawing of the stomach that he could not assuage. When he had eaten, he was overcome by lassitude. The night seemed never-ending. The distant music grew clearer; the dancing at times shook the floor. Carriages began to rumble. He was looking fixedly at the door, when he saw a light through the keyhole. He did not hide. So much the worse, if anyone came in. "No; thank you, Françoise," said Therese, appearing with a candle, "I can undress quite well alone. Go to bed,--you must be tired." She closed the door and slipped the bolt. Then, she stood for a moment motionless, with her finger on her lip. The dance had not brought color to her cheeks. She did not speak. She set down the candle, and sat down opposite Julien. During a half hour, they waited, looking at each other. The doors had banged; the mansion had gone to sleep. But what worried Therese was the proximity of Françoise. Françoise walked about a few minutes, then her bed creaked. For some time, she turned from side to side, as if unable to sleep. At last, her strong and regular breathing was heard through the wall. Therese looked at Julien gravely. She said only one word,--"Come." They drew aside the curtains. They wished to clothe the corpse which already had the rigidity of a lugubrious puppet. When that task was finished, their brows were moist. "Come," she said a second time. Without hesitation, Julien took up the body and threw it across his shoulders, as butchers carry calves. "I will go before you," murmured Therese rapidly, "I will hold your coat,--you have only to follow. And walk softly." They had first to pass through Françoise's room. They had crossed it, when one of the feet of the corpse struck against a chair. At the sound, Françoise awoke. They heard her raise her head, mumbling to herself. They remained motionless,--she, pressed against the door; he, crushed under the weight of the body, with the horrible fear that the mother might surprise them carrying her son to the river. It was a moment of anguish. Then, Françoise went to sleep again, and they stealthily reached the corridor. But, here, another fright awaited them. The marquise had not gone to bed,--a streak of light came through the partly opened door. So, they dared neither go forward, nor retreat. For a quarter of an hour, they did not move, and Therese had the astounding courage to support the body so that Julien should not get tired. At last, the streak of light was obliterated. They could go on to the ground floor. They were saved. It was Therese who again opened the ancient door. And when Julien found himself in the middle of Quatre-Femmes Square with his burden, he saw her standing on the flight of steps, in her white ball gown. She was waiting for him. V