After all, the maid might have discovered that the draught was turned, and in that case she was saved and he was lost.  Chance would decide between them.

There are moments when a shipwrecked man, tired of swimming, not knowing to which side to direct his course, without light, without guide, at the end of strength and hope, floats on his back and lets himself be tossed by the waves, to rest and wait for light.  This was his case; he could do nothing but wait.

He would not commit the insane folly of wishing to see and know, as in Caffie’s case; he would know the result soon enough, too soon.

Rising, he lighted a candle, and paced up and down his apartment like a caged animal.  Then it occurred to him that those underneath would hear his steps; doubtless they would remark this agitated march, would be surprised, and would ask an explanation.  In his position he must take care not to give cause for any remark that could not be explained.  He took off his boots and continued his walk.

But why had she spoken to him of double weatherstrips at the doors and windows, of hangings on the walls, of thick curtains?  It was she who thus suggested to him the idea of the draught of the stove, which would not have come to him spontaneously.

The night passed in such agitating thoughts; at times the hours seemed to stand still, and again they flew with astounding rapidity.  One moment the perspiration fell from his forehead on his hands; at another he felt frozen.

When his windows grew light with the dawn, he threw himself prostrated and shuddering on the divan, and leaning on a cushion he detected the odor of Phillis; burying his head in it he remained motionless and slept.

A ring of the bell woke him, horrified, frightened; he did not know where he was.  It was broad daylight, carriages rumbled through the street.  A second ring sounded stronger, more violent.  Shivering, he went to open the door, and recognized the maid who the previous evening brought a note from Madame Dammauville.  He did not need to question her:  fate was on his side.  His eyes became dim; without seeing her he heard the maid explain why she had come.

She had been to Monsieur Balzajette; he was in the country.  Her mistress was nearly cold in her bed; she neither spoke nor breathed, yet her face was pink.

“I will go with you.”

He did not need to learn more.  That rosy color, which has been observed in those asphyxiated by oxide of carbon, decided it.  However, he questioned the maid.

Nothing had occurred; she had talked with the cook in the kitchen, who, near midnight, went to her room in the fifth story, and then she went to bed in a small room contiguous to that of her mistress.  During the night she heard nothing; in the morning she found her mistress in the state she mentioned, and immediately went for Monsieur Balzajette.

Continuing his questions, Saniel asked her what Madame Dammauville did after the consultation with Monsieur Balzajette.