Suddenly, a tall shadow passed behind Mme. Chambannes; Gerald's silhouette, even his rose and his moustache showing distinctly. Nimble steps went down the front steps. The pebbles of the paths in the garden squeaked. Now, there came, at intervals, a low voice in a monologue. Her head immobile, Mme. Chambannes seemed to listen to him; her finger before her face made gestures of refusal. Forgetting all caution, M. Raindal opened his eyes very wide. Zozé's brusquely turning about caused him to close them again, but barely in time. What was happening? She came into the drawing-room, looked for something--hearing a rustling of silk and lace, M. Raindal assumed that it was a scarf--then went out again on tip-toes, turning round an instant as she reached the French windows.... Then he heard her heels on the steps and on the gravel of the path. "This is going rather far!" the master murmured, as he rose and stretched himself. He listened. Everything was silent outside. Where had she run away? Yes, to the garden, to walk with young Gerald.... But if they were walking, how could he explain the silence? Had they, by any chance, gone beyond the customary limit, as far as the lawn, perhaps even beyond that? An unlikely liberty! Yet M. Raindal wanted to make sure of it. In his turn he came to lean on the white stone balustrade. In disorderly bounds his heart beat against his ribs, and this continuous hammering extended to his left arm like a hollow internal alarm-bell. His eyes scanned the garden. The silence persisted under a sky covered with stars. A faint bluish light revealed every part where bushes, trees or other opaque obstacles had not resisted their fragile rays. Thus, the lawn showed in all its outlines, even to its slight slope and the flower beds. The path that edged it also sketched out clearly its coils of gravel. The darkness began only beyond that path, at the high wall of the lime trees, which scattered the perfume of their late blooms far through the damp atmosphere. As a rule, M. Raindal delighted in that sugary perfume. He would inhale it greedily with mouth wide open and nostrils palpitating. But now, all his body, with the exception of his eyes, was petrified with anguish. He had no strength, no life, no consciousness but for the one aim, to scan the shadows, to search the darkness with his greedy eyes, his eyes that longed to see. No one on the lawn; no one in the path ... not a sound on the gravel! Then they were hiding in the park, the wretches! The master took no time to answer this terrible query. He straightened himself brusquely; like an automaton, whose very stiffness is unsteady, he went down the steps.