And I looked at Rouletabille, asking myself: Who could have been killed if it were not Larsan? If Mathilde had not seen his face, she had certainly heard his voice. She shuddered yet at the recollection--she heard it yet. And Bernier, too, had heard the voice and recognized it--that terrible voice of Larsan’s--the voice of Ballmeyer, who in that fearful conflict in the middle of the night, had promised death to Robert Darzac. “This blow will end your life!” while Darzac could only groan in the tones of a dying man, “Mathilde! Mathilde!” Ah, how he had cried to her!--how he had called with the rattle in his throat, as he lay already vanquished and in the shadow of death! And she--she had only to throw her own shadow, swooning with terror, into the midst of those two other shadows, while the man she loved called upon her for the aid she could not give and which could not come from elsewhere. And then, suddenly, there had come the pistol shot and she had uttered that terrible shriek--as though she had been wounded, herself. “Who was dead? Who was living? Who was speaking? Whose voice would she hear?” And then it was Robert who spoke. Rouletabille took the Lady in Black into his arms once more, lifted her up and carried her tenderly to the door of her own room. And there, he said to her: “Mamma, you must leave me now. I have work to do--for you, for M. Darzac and for myself.” “Don’t leave me! I beg of you not to leave me until Robert comes back!” she cried in terror. Rouletabille begged her to try and take some rest and promised to remain near her if she would close her door, when someone knocked at the door of the corridor. Rouletabille asked who was there and the voice of Darzac answered. “At last!” cried Rouletabille, and he threw the door open. The man who entered looked like a corpse. Never was human face so pallid, so bloodless, so devoid of all semblance of life. So many emotions had ravaged his visage that it expressed not a single one. “Ah! you were there!” he said. “Well, it is over.” And he fell into the chair from which Rouletabille had just raised the Lady in Black. He looked up at her. “Your wish is realized,” he said. “It is where you wished it to be.” “Did you see his face?” questioned Rouletabille excitedly. “No,” answered Darzac, wearily. “I have not seen it. Did you think that I was going to open the sack?” I thought that Rouletabille would have shown discomfiture at this answer but, on the contrary, he turned to M. Darzac and said: “Ah, you did not see his face. That’s very good, indeed.” And he pressed his hand affectionately. “The important thing now,” he went on, “is not that, at all. It is necessary that we should close the circle. And you will help us do that, M. Darzac. Wait a moment.” And almost joyously, he threw himself down on all fours and crawled around among the furniture and under the bed as I had seen him do in the Yellow Room. And from time to time, he raised his head to say: