He told Coralie what he suspected, or rather what conformed so well with the reality as to leave no room for doubt. He had seen in old Siméon's cupboard not only the rope-ladder which the madman had brought with him, but also a coil of lead pipes. And now Siméon's behavior from the moment when they were locked in, his movements to and fro around the lodge, the care with which he had stopped up every crevice, his labors along the wall and on the roof: all this was explained in the most definite fashion. Old Siméon had simply fitted to a gas-meter, probably in the kitchen, the pipe which he had next laid along the wall and on the roof. This therefore was the way in which they were about to die, as their parents had died before them, stifled by ordinary gas. Panic-stricken, they began to run aimlessly about the room, holding hands, while their disordered brains, bereft of thought or will, seemed like tiny things shaken by the fiercest gale. Coralie uttered incoherent words. Patrice, while imploring her to keep calm, was himself carried away by the storm and powerless to resist the terrible agony of the darkness wherein death lay waiting. At such times a man tries to flee, to escape the icy breath that is already chilling his marrow. He must flee, but where? Which way? The walls are insurmountable and the darkness is even harder than the walls. They stopped, exhausted. A low hiss was heard somewhere in the room, the faint hiss that issues from a badly-closed gas-jet. They listened and perceived that it came from above. The torture was beginning. "It will last half an hour, or an hour at most," Patrice whispered. Coralie had recovered her self-consciousness: "We shall be brave," she said. "Oh, if I were alone! But you, you, my poor Coralie!" "It is painless," she murmured. "You are bound to suffer, you, so weak!" "One suffers less, the weaker one is. Besides, I know that we sha'n't suffer, Patrice." She suddenly appeared so placid that he on his side was filled with a great peace. Seated on a sofa, their fingers still entwined, they silently steeped themselves in the mighty calm which comes when we think that events have run their course. This calm is resignation, submission to superior forces. Natures such as theirs cease to rebel when destiny has manifested its orders and when nothing remains but acquiescence and prayer. She put her arm round Patrice's neck: "I am your bride in the eyes of God," she said. "May He receive us as He would receive a husband and wife." Her gentle resignation brought tears to his eyes. She dried them with her kisses, and, of her own seeking, offered him her lips. They sat wrapped in an infinite silence. They perceived the first smell of gas descending around them, but they felt no fear.