“That was madness!” cried M. Darzac. “If I did not tell you the exact hour at which I entered the Square Tower it was because the time was somewhat vague in my own mind and I did not attach any importance to it.” “In such a manner, M. Darzac,” continued Rouletabille, without paying any attention to the interruptions of his interlocutor, the emotion of the Lady in Black and our attitude, more than ever filled with terror. “In such a manner as that you could have stolen away the true Darzac when he came from outside and, by your own carefulness and the too faithful help of the Lady in Black, could have taken his place and have been perfectly able to defy detection of your audacious enterprise. This was my imagination--only my imagination, M. Darzac; don’t let it disturb you. But in such a manner as this, I had thought that, you being Larsan, the man who was put in the sack was Darzac. Ah! the fancies that I have had! and the useless suspicions!” “Bah!” responded Mathilde’s husband, gloomily. “We are all suspicious here!” Rouletabille turned his back upon M. Darzac, put his hands in his pocket and said, addressing himself to Mathilde, who seemed ready to swoon before the horror of Rouletabille’s imaginings: “Courage for a little while longer, Madame!” And he began speaking again, in his “teacher’s” voice which I knew so well, and with the air of a professor of mathematics propounding or resolving a theorem: “You see, M. Darzac, there are two manifestations of Robert Darzac. To know which was the true one and which was the one which formed a disguise for Larsan--my duty, M. Darzac--that which the power of pure reason showed me--was to examine, without fear or reproach, both of these manifestations--_in all impartiality_. Thus, I begin with you--M. Darzac.” M. Darzac replied: “It does not matter since you suspect me no longer. But you must tell me immediately who is Larsan. I insist upon it--I demand it!” “We all demand it--and at once!” we all cried, turning upon both of them. Mathilde rushed up to her child and placed herself in front of him, as if to protect him. We felt the pathos of her attitude but the scene had endured too long and we were beyond the limits of patience. “If he knows who is Larsan let him speak out and make an end of this!” exclaimed Arthur Rance. And suddenly, just as the thought crossed my mind that I had heard the same cries of anger and impatience two years before at the Court of Assizes, another pistol shot sounded outside the door of the Square Tower, and we were all so seized with consternation that our anger fell away in a moment and we found ourselves not threatening Rouletabille but entreating him to put an end as soon as possible to this intolerable situation. At this moment, it actually seemed as though we were each imploring him to speak out, as though we calculated that by doing so, we would prove, not only to the others but to ourselves, that we were not Larsan.