“Monsieur, I have lived several years in Russia, where I have acquired the habit of never taking any but an ungloved hand.” I thought that the Sorbonne professor would express his anger openly, but, on the contrary, by a visibly violent effort, he calmed himself, took off his gloves, and showed his hands; they were unmarked by any cicatrice. “Are you satisfied?” “No!” replied Rouletabille. “My dear friend,” he said, turning to me, “I am obliged to ask you to leave us alone for a moment.” I bowed and retired, stupefied by what I had seen and heard. I could not understand why Monsieur Robert Darzac had not already shown the door to my impertinent, insulting, and stupid friend. I was angry myself with Rouletabille at that moment, for his suspicions, which had led to this scene of the gloves. For some twenty minutes I walked about in front of the château, trying vainly to link together the different events of the day. What was in Rouletabille’s mind? Was it possible that he thought Monsieur Robert Darzac to be the murderer? How could it be thought that this man, who was to have married Mademoiselle Stangerson in the course of a few days, had introduced himself into “The Yellow Room” to assassinate his fiancée? I could find no explanation as to how the murderer had been able to leave “The Yellow Room”; and so long as that mystery, which appeared to me so inexplicable, remained unexplained, I thought it was the duty of all of us to refrain from suspecting anybody. But, then, that seemingly senseless phrase—“The presbytery has lost nothing of its charm, nor the garden its brightness”—still rung in my ears. What did it mean? I was eager to rejoin Rouletabille and question him. At that moment the young man came out of the château in the company of Monsieur Robert Darzac, and, extraordinary to relate, I saw, at a glance, that they were the best of friends. “We are going to ‘The Yellow Room.’ Come with us,” Rouletabille said to me. “You know, my dear boy, I am going to keep you with me all day. We’ll breakfast together somewhere about here—” “You’ll breakfast with me, here, gentlemen—” “No, thanks,” replied the young man. “We shall breakfast at the Donjon Inn.” “You’ll fare very badly there; you’ll not find anything—” “Do you think so? Well, I hope to find something there,” replied Rouletabille. “After breakfast, we’ll set to work again. I’ll write my article and if you’ll be so good as to take it to the office for me—” “Won’t you come back with me to Paris?” “No; I shall remain here.” I turned towards Rouletabille. He spoke quite seriously, and Monsieur Robert Darzac did not appear to be in the least degree surprised. We were passing by the donjon and heard wailing voices. Rouletabille asked: “Why have these people been arrested?”