The window was open. Patrice came to the conclusion that the things had gone by this way, thus confirming his theory that the old fellow was an unconscious confederate. Shortly before ten o'clock Coralie joined him in the garden. Patrice had told her the latest events. She looked pale and anxious. They went round the lawns and, without being seen, reached the clumps of dwarf shrubs which hid the door on the lane. Patrice opened the door. As he started to open the other his hand hesitated. He felt sorry that he had not told M. Masseron and that he and Coralie were performing by themselves a pilgrimage which certain signs warned him to be dangerous. He shook off the obsession, however. He had two revolvers with him. What had he to fear? "You're coming in, aren't you, Coralie?" "Yes," she said. "I somehow thought you seemed undecided, anxious . . ." "It's quite true," said Coralie. "I feel a sort of hollowness." "Why? Are you afraid?" "No. Or rather yes. I'm not afraid for to-day, but in some way for the past. I think of my poor mother, who went through this door, as I am doing, one April morning. She was perfectly happy, she was going to meet her love. . . . And then I feel as if I wanted to hold her back and cry, 'Don't go on. . . . Death is lying in wait for you. . . . Don't go on. . . .' And it's I who hear those words of terror, they ring in my ears; it's I who hear them and I dare not go on. I'm afraid." "Let's go back, Coralie." She only took his arm: "No," she said, in a firm voice. "We'll walk on. I want to pray. It will do me good." Boldly she stepped along the little slanting path which her mother had followed and climbed the slope amid the tangled weeds and the straggling branches. They passed the lodge on their left and reached the leafy cloisters where each had a parent lying buried. And at once, at the first glance, they saw that the twentieth wreath was there. "Siméon has come," said Patrice. "An all-powerful instinct obliged him to come. He must be somewhere near." While Coralie knelt down beside the tombstone, he hunted around the cloisters and went as far as the middle of the garden. There was nothing left but to go to the lodge, and this was evidently a dread act which they put off performing, if not from fear, at least from the reverent awe which checks a man on entering a place of death and crime. It was Coralie once again who gave the signal for action: "Come," she said. Patrice did not know how they would make their way into the lodge, for all its doors and windows had appeared to them to be shut. But, as they approached, they saw that the back-door opening on the yard was wide open, and they at once thought that Siméon was waiting for them inside. It was exactly ten o'clock when they crossed the threshold of the lodge. A little hall led to a kitchen on one side and a bedroom on the other. The principal room must be that opposite. The door stood ajar.