It was very dark. Jeanne did not take a light, as she did not care to attract attention, so they had to feel every step of the way as quietly as possible, striving not to make the least noise, holding their breath, and with beating hearts. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Jeanne stretched out her hand, and sought the handle of the door which opened into the courtyard. She turned it, but the door would not open. She pushed, but it did not give way. Jeanne uttered a low groan. Serge shook it vigorously, but it would not open. “It has been fastened on the outside,” he whispered. “Fastened?” murmured Jeanne, seized with fear. “Fastened, and by whom?” Serge did not answer. The idea that Cayrol had done it came to his mind at once. The husband lying in wait, had seen him enter, and to prevent his escaping from his vengeance had cut off all means of retreating. Silently, they went upstairs again, into the room through the dressing-room. Jeanne took off her bonnet and cloak, and sank into an armchair. “I must get away!” said Serge, with suppressed rage; and he walked toward the door of the gallery. “No! don’t open that,” cried Jeanne, excitedly. And with a frightened look, she added: “What if he were behind the door?” At the same moment, as if Jeanne’s voice had indeed evoked Cayrol, a heavy step was heard approaching along the gallery, a hand tried to open the bolted door. Serge and Jeanne remained motionless, waiting. “Jeanne!” called the voice of Cayrol from the outside, sounding mournfully in the silence, “Jeanne, open!” And with his fist he knocked imperatively on the woodwork. “I know you are there! Open, I say!” he cried, with increasing rage. “If you don’t open the door, I’ll--” “Go! I beseech you!” whispered Jeanne, in Panine’s ear. “Go downstairs again, and break open the door. You won’t find any one there now.” “Perhaps he has stationed some one there,” answered Serge. “Besides, I won’t leave you here alone exposed to his violence.” “You are not alone. I can hear you talking!” said Cayrol, beside himself. “I shall break open this door!” The husband made a tremendous effort. Under the pressure of his heavy weight the lock gave way. With a bound he was in the middle of the room. Jeanne threw herself before him; she no longer trembled. Cayrol took another step and fixed his glaring eyes on the man whom he sought, uttering a fearful oath. “Serge!” cried he. “I might have guessed it. It is not only money of which you are robbing me, you villain!” Panine turned horribly pale, and advanced toward Cayrol, despite Jeanne, who was clinging to him. “Don’t insult me; it is superfluous,” said he. “My life belongs to you; you can take it. I shall be at your service whenever you please.” Cayrol burst into a fearful laugh. “Ah! a duel! Come! Am I a gentleman? I am a plebeian! a rustic! a cowherd! you know that! I have you now! I am going to smash you!”