“What is the matter?” cried Mere Bernier, and the same instant they heard the voice of Mme. Darzac, shouting, “Help! help!” This was the cry that we, too, had heard in the New Château. Pere Bernier, leaving his wife almost fainting from horror, rushed to the door of M. Darzac’s room and beat against it, crying aloud to him to open, but obtaining no reply. The struggle within was still going on. Bernier heard the labored breathing of two men and he recognized the voice of Larsan when he heard the words: “With this blow, I shall have your life!” Then he heard M. Darzac, who called his wife to his aid in a voice almost stifled, as though he were gagged, “Mathilde! Mathilde!” Evidently he and Larsan must have been engaged in a life and death struggle when, suddenly, the pistol shot had saved him. This pistol shot had frightened Pere Bernier less than the cry which had followed it. One would have thought that Mme. Darzac, who had uttered the cry, had been mortally wounded. Bernier was unable to understand Mme. Darzac’s attitude in the matter. Why did she not open the door and admit him to help her husband? Why did she not draw the shades? Finally, almost immediately after the pistol shot, the door, upon which Pere Bernier had not stopped knocking all the time, was opened. The room was wrapped in darkness, which did not surprise the concierge, for the light of the chandelier which he had perceived under the door during the fight had been suddenly extinguished and at the same moment he had heard the chandelier itself fall heavily to the floor. It was Mme. Darzac who had opened the door and Bernier could distinguish through the gloom the form of M. Darzac leaning over something which the concierge knew was a dying man. Bernier had called to his wife to bring a light, but Mme. Darzac had cried: “No, no! No light! no light! And, above all, be sure that _he_ knows nothing.” And immediately she had rushed to the door of the tower, calling out, “He is coming! he is coming! I hear him! Open the door, Pere Bernier! I must go and meet him!” And Pere Bernier had opened the door, the while she kept on moaning, “Hide yourselves! Go in! Don’t let him know anything!” Pere Bernier went on: “You came like a waterspout, M. Rouletabille. And she drew you into Old Bob’s sitting room. You saw nothing. I stayed with M. Darzac. The rattle in the throat of the man on the floor had ceased. M. Darzac still bending over him said to me: ‘Get a sack, Bernier, a sack and a stone, and we will throw him into the sea and no one will ever hear his voice again!’