“When one looks at the skull from above, one notices very clearly a pentagonal formation which is due to the notable development of the parietal bumps and the jutting out of the shell of the occipitals. The great breadth of the face comes from the exaggerated development of the zygomatic proportions. While in the head of the troglodytes of the Baousse-Raousse, what do we find?” I shall never know what it was that Old Bob found in the head of the troglodytes, for I did not listen to him, _but I looked at him_. And I had no further inclination for laughter. Old Bob seemed to me terrifying, horrible, as false as the Father of Lies, with his counterfeit gayety and his scientific jargon. My eyes remained fixed upon him as if they were fascinated. It seemed to me that I could see his hair move, just as a wig might do. One thought--the thought of Larsan, which never left me completely, seemed to expand until it filled my entire brain. I felt as if I must speak it out, when all at once, I felt an arm locked in mine, and I saw Rouletabille looking at me with an expression which I did not know how to read. “What is the matter, Sainclair?” whispered the lad, anxiously. “My friend,” I returned in a tone as low as his own. “I dare not tell you; you would make sport of me.” He drew me away from the table and we walked toward the west boulevard. After he had looked closely on every side and made sure that no one was near us, he said: “No, Sainclair, no: I won’t make sport of you, for you are in the right in seeing _him_ everywhere around us. If he were not there a little while ago, he is perhaps there now. Ah, he is stronger than the stones! He is stronger than anything else in the world. I fear him less within than without. And I should be very glad if the stones which I have called to my aid in hindering his entrance shall aid me to hold him inside. For, Sainclair, _I feel that he is here_!” I pressed Rouletabille’s hand, for, strange as it may seem, I shared the same impression--I felt that the eyes of Larsan were upon me--I could hear him breathe. When and how this sensation had first come over me, I was unable to say. But it seemed to me that it had come with the appearance of Old Bob. I said to Rouletabille, scarcely daring to put into words what was in my mind: “Old Bob?” He did not answer. At the end of a few moments, he said: “Hold your left hand in your right for five minutes and then ask yourself: _‘Is it you, Larsan?’ And when you have replied to yourself, do not feel too sure, for he may, perhaps, have lied to you, and he may be in your own skin without your knowing it._”