'Not a shoul,' said Diaz. 'Needn't be 'fraid.' I'm not afraid,' I said. 'But I wanted to know. Which floor is it?' 'Third. I'll light a match.' Then I pushed to the door, whose automatic latch clicked. We were fast in the courtyard. Diaz dropped his matches in attempting to strike one. The metal box bounced on the tiles. I bent down and groped with both hands till I found it. And presently we began painfully to ascend the staircase, Diaz holding his umbrella and the rail, and I striking matches from time to time. We were on the second landing when I heard the bell ring again, and the banging of the front-door, and then voices at the foot of the staircase. I trembled lest we should be over-taken, and I would have hurried Diaz on, but he would not be hurried. Happily, as we were halfway between the second and third story, the man and the girl whose voices I heard stopped at the second. I caught sight of them momentarily through the banisters. The man was striking matches as I had been. '_C'est ici_,' the girl whispered. She was dressed in blue with a very large hat. She put a key in the door when they had stopped, and then our matches went out simultaneously. The door shut, and Diaz and I were alone on the staircase again. I struck another match; we struggled on. When I had taken his key from Diaz' helpless hand, and opened his door and guided him within, and closed the door definitely upon the outer world, I breathed a great sigh. Every turn of the stair had been a station of the cross for me. We were now in utter darkness. The classical effluvium of inebriety mingled with the classical odour of the furnished lodging. But I cared not. I had at last successfully hidden his shame. No one could witness it now but me. So I was glad. Neither of us said anything as, still with the aid of matches, I penetrated into the flat. Silently I peered about until I perceived a pair of candles, which I lighted. Diaz, with his hat on his head and his umbrella clasped tightly in his hand, fell into a chair. We glanced at each other. 'You had better go to bed,' I suggested. 'Take your hat off. You will feel better without it.' He did not move, and I approached him and gently took his hat. I then touched the umbrella. 'No, no, no!' he cried suddenly; 'I'm always losing this umbrella, and I won't let it out of my sight.' 'As you wish,' I replied coldly. I was standing by him when he got up with a surprising lurch and put a hand on my shoulder. He evidently meant to kiss me. I kept him at arm's length, feeling a sort of icy anger. 'Go to bed,' I repeated fiercely. 'It is the only place for you.' He made inarticulate noises in his throat, and ultimately achieved the remark: 'You're very hard, Magda.' Then he bent himself towards the next room. 'You will want a candle,' I said, with bitterness. 'No; I will carry it. Let me go first.'