Poterne was at table with Madame Ratouille, on the ground floor; Daréna had gone upstairs, where he had ordered Louise’s dinner to be served, announcing his purpose to dine with her. He had just declared his love to Louise, who, terrified and trembling, began to understand that she had fallen into a trap, and implored heaven to come to her aid. On the ground floor, where there was no talk of love, they ate much and drank even more. Madame Ratouille’s eyes had grown so small that they were invisible, and Monsieur Poterne’s tongue was beginning to thicken, when Bruno knocked on the door. For some time no one answered; at last Poterne’s voice inquired: “Who’s there?” “It’s me, Père Poterne; it’s your little monkey, Bruno; please let me in.” “What do you want, you scalawag? what have you come here for? We are not in need of you. Away you go!” “I came to get a Greek cap that I forgot to take; I’m sure I can find it, for I know just where I put it. Let me get my cap and I’ll go right away.” “You annoy us. Go somewhere else and get a cap. Leave us in peace.” “If you don’t let me get my cap, which is in your house, I’ll knock on the door all night, and I’ll make row enough to bring the watch here.” That threat convinced Poterne; he opened the door, grumbling: “Well, come in and find your Greek cap; and make haste to clear out.” But instead of the small boy whom he expected to see, Chérubin darted into the house, with a pistol in his hand, the barrel of which he held against Poterne’s chest, saying in a low voice, but with fire flashing from his eyes: “If you make a sound, I’ll kill you!--Where is Louise?” Poterne was so frightened that he could barely murmur: “Upstairs--with Daréna.” Chérubin asked no more questions; he darted forward, rushed upstairs, and with a kick forced the door of the apartment on the first floor. He was no longer the weak, timid young man, who could neither speak nor act, but a Hercules whom nothing could withstand. As he entered the room he saw Louise struggling and doing her utmost to repel Daréna, who was trying to take her in his arms. Chérubin rushed upon the man who sought to outrage Louise, and seizing him about the middle of the body, lifted him up and threw him violently across the room, against the table on which the dinner was served. Daréna had no time to grasp what had happened, or to defend himself; his head struck the corner of the table, his chin broke a plate which cut his face, and he fell, murmuring Chérubin’s name. “Chérubin!” cried Louise, staring at her rescuer, afraid to believe her eyes, but shedding tears of joy. “Is it possible? It is he! it is you!”