"Well, are you ready?" he asked. Siméon, who seemed absorbed in thought, gave a start. "Ready for what?" said Don Luis, replying to his unspoken question. "Why, for the great journey, of course! Your passport is in order. Your ticket's taken: Paris to Hell, single. Non-stop hearse. Sleeping-coffin. Step in, sir!" The old man, tottering on his legs, made an effort and stammered: "And Patrice?" "What about him?" "I offer you his life in exchange for my own." Don Luis folded his arms across his chest: "Well, of all the cheek! Patrice is a friend; and you think me capable of abandoning him like that? Do you see me, Lupin, making more or less witty jokes upon your imminent death while my friend Patrice is in danger? Old Siméon, you're getting played out. It's time you went and rested in a better world." He lifted a hanging, opened a door and called out: "Well, captain, how are you getting on? Ah, I see you've recovered consciousness! Are you surprised to see me? No, no thanks, but please come in here. Our old Siméon's asking for you." Then, turning to the old man, he said: "Here's your son, you unnatural father!" Patrice entered the room with his head bandaged, for the blow which Siméon had struck him and the weight of the tombstone had opened his old wounds. He was very pale and seemed to be in great pain. At the sight of Siméon Diodokis he gave signs of terrible anger. He controlled himself, however. The two men stood facing each other, without stirring, and Don Luis, rubbing his hands, said, in an undertone: "What a scene! What a splendid scene? Isn't it well-arranged? The father and the son! The murderer and his victim! Listen to the orchestra! . . . A slight tremolo. . . . What are they going to do? Will the son kill his father or the father kill his son? A thrilling moment. . . . And the mighty silence! Only the call of the blood is heard . . . and in what terms! Now we're off! The call of the blood has sounded; and they are going to throw themselves into each other's arms, the better to strangle the life out of each other!" Patrice had taken two steps forward; and the movement suggested by Don Luis was about to be performed. Already the officer's arms were flung wide for the fight. But suddenly Siméon, weakened by pain and dominated by a stronger will than his own, let himself go and implored his adversary: "Patrice!" he entreated. "Patrice! What are you thinking of doing?" Stretching out his hands, he threw himself upon the other's pity; and Patrice, arrested in his onrush, stood perplexed, staring at the man to whom he was bound by so mysterious and strange a tie: "Coralie," he said, without lowering his hands, "Coralie . . . tell me where she is and I'll spare your life." The old man started. His evil nature was stimulated by the remembrance of Coralie; and he recovered a part of his energy at the possibility of wrong-doing. He gave a cruel laugh: