One after the other they entered the huddle of ruins, from which we were now separated by forty yards at most. We covered the distance in a few seconds and I rushed ahead towards the place through which Bérangère had slipped. As I arrived, a shot rang out, some little way off, and I heard moans. Despite my efforts, I could get no farther forward, because the passage was blocked by brambles and trails of ivy. My companion and I struggled desperately against the branches which were cutting our faces. At length we emerged on a large platform, where at first we saw no one among the tall grass and the moss-grown rocks. Still, there was that shot . . . and those cries of pain quite close to where we stood. . . . Suddenly the count, who was searching a short distance in front of me, exclaimed: "There she is! . . . Bérangère! Are you hurt?" I leapt towards him. Bérangère lay outstretched in a tangle of leaves and herbage. She was so pale that I had not a doubt but that she was dead; and I felt very clearly that I should not be able to survive her. I even completed my thought by saying, aloud: "I will avenge her first. The murderer shall die by my hand, I swear it." But the count, after a hurried inspection, declared. "She's not dead, she's breathing." And I saw her open her eyes. I fell on my knees besides her and, lifting her fair and sorrow-stricken face in my hands, asked her: "Where are you hurt, Bérangère? Tell me, darling." "I'm not hurt," she whispered. "It's the exertion, the excitement." "But surely," I insisted, "he fired at you?" "No, no," she said, "it was I who fired." "Do you mean that? You fired?" "Yes, with his revolver." "But you missed him. He has made his escape." "I did not miss him. I saw him fall . . . quite close to this . . . on the edge of the ravine." This ravine was a deep cut in the ground, on our right. The count went to the spot and called to me. When I was standing beside him, he showed me the body of a man lying head downwards, his face covered with blood. I approached and recognized Velmot. He was dead. CHAPTER XIX THE FORMULA Velmot dead, Bérangère alive: the joy of it! The sudden sense of security! This time, the evil adventure was over, since the girl whom I loved had nothing more to fear. And my thoughts at once harked back to Noël Dorgeroux: the formula in which the great secret was summed up was saved. With the clues and the means of action which existed elsewhere, mankind was now in a position to continue my uncle's work. Bérangère called me back: "He's dead, isn't he?" I felt intuitively that I ought not to tell her a truth which was too heavy for her to bear and which she was afraid of hearing and I declared: "Not at all. . . . We haven't seen him. . . . He must have got away. . . ." My answer seemed to relieve her; and she whispered: "In any case, he is wounded. . . . I know I hit him." "Rest, my darling," I said, "and don't worry any more about anything."