"Still, it's a chap's duty to provide for everything. If, by chance you think better of it, if you have an inspiration at the last moment, you have only to call me, quite softly. . . . There, I'm loosening your gag a bit. . . . Good-bye, Théodore." Velmot pushed the boat back and landed, grumbling: "It's a dog's life! What a fool the brute is!" As arranged, he sat down again, after bringing the chair and table to the water's edge, poured himself out a glass of liqueur and lit his pipe: "Here's to your good health, Massignac," he said. "At the present rate, I can see that, in twenty minutes from now, you'll be having a drink too. Whatever you do, don't forget to call me. I'm listening for all I'm worth, old chum." The moon had become veiled with clouds, which must have been very dense, for the bank grew so dark that I could hardly distinguish Velmot's figure. As a matter of fact, I was persuaded that the implacable contest would end in some compromise and that Velmot would give way or Massignac speak. Nevertheless, ten or perhaps fifteen minutes passed, minutes which seemed to me interminable. Velmot smoked quietly and Massignac gave a series of little whimpers, but did not call out. Five minutes more. Velmot rose angrily: "It's no use whining, you blasted fool! I've had enough of messing about. Will you speak? No? Then die, you scamp!" And I heard him snarling between his teeth: "Perhaps I shall manage better with the other one." Whom did he mean by "the other one"? Me? In point of fact, he turned to the left, that is towards the part of the house where the door was: "Damn it!" he swore, almost immediately. There was an ejaculation. And then I heard nothing more from that direction. What had happened? Had Velmot knocked against the wall, in the dark, or against an open shutter? I could not see him from where I stood. The table and chair were faintly outlined in the gloom. Beyond was the pitchy darkness from which came Massignac's muffled whimper. "Velmot is on his way," I said to myself. "A few seconds more and he will be here." The reason for his coming I did not understand, any more than the reason for trepanning me. Did he think that I knew the formula and that I had refrained from denouncing Massignac because of an understanding between him and myself? In that case, did he mean to compel me to speak, by employing with me the same methods as with his former accomplice? Or was it a question of Bérangère between us, of the Bérangère whom we both loved and whose name, to my surprise, he had not even mentioned to Massignac? These were so many problems to which he would provide the reply: "That is," I thought, "if he comes." For, after all, he was not there; and there was not a sound in the house. What was he doing? For some little while I stood with my ear glued to the door by which he should have entered, ready to defend myself though unarmed. He did not come.