She still held her two eggs, and she presented them, eggs laid that same morning, which she had just taken from under her hens, and the old lady was effusive in thanks. "Oh! how kind of you!" said she. "You are spoiling me, I declare. Come and have a chat more frequently. You know that my husband is always in his counting-house; and I have a tedious time of it, riveted here on account of my poor legs! What would become of me, if those wretches were to take away my view?" Then, as she accompanied her, and opened the door, she placed a finger on her lips. "Hush! Let us listen," said she. Both of them remained standing in the corridor for five full minutes, holding their breath, without a movement. They bent their heads, with ears turned towards the dining-room of the Roubauds; but not a sound came from that direction. Deathlike silence reigned within. And, in fear of being surprised, they at last separated, giving each other a nod, without pronouncing a word. While one went off on tiptoe, the other closed her door so gently, that the catch could hardly be heard entering the socket. At 9.20 Roubaud was again below under the marquee superintending the making-up of the 9.50 slow train; and, in spite of all his efforts to keep calm, he gesticulated more than ever, stamping his feet, and turning round at every moment to examine the platform from one end to the other. But nothing came, and his hands trembled with impatience. Then, abruptly, as he was looking behind him, and searching again all over the station, he heard a telegraph boy, out of breath, close to him, saying: "Monsieur Roubaud, do you know where the station-master, and the commissary of police are? I have got telegrams for them, and have been running after them for the last ten minutes." He turned round with such a stiffening of all his being, that not a muscle of his face moved. His eyes were fixed on the two telegrams which the lad held in his hand. And this time, from the excited look of the latter, he felt convinced that the catastrophe had come at last. "Monsieur Dabadie passed by here a short time ago," said he tranquilly. And never had he felt himself so cool, with an intelligence so bright, prepared for the defence from head to foot. "Look!" he resumed; "here is Monsieur Dabadie coming towards us." In fact, the station-master was returning from the goods train department. As soon as he had run his eye over the telegram, he exclaimed: "There has been a murder on the line. The inspector at Rouen telegraphs to me to that effect." "What?" inquired Roubaud; "a murder among our staff?" "No, no," answered the station-master. "The murder of a passenger in a coupé. The body was thrown out almost at the exit from the tunnel of Malaunay at post 153. And the victim is one of our directors, President Grandmorin." The assistant station-master immediately exclaimed: "The President! Ah! my poor wife, what a terrible blow it will be for her!"