r contempt for
burglars--probably Parisians. But he did not go into the hall.
Doubtless the pleasant warmth of the kitchen fire held him in his chair.

He had described to his wife, with some ferocity, the cruel manner in
which he would annihilate the first three burglars who entered the
hall, and was proceeding to describe his method of dealing with the
fourth, when there came a loud knocking on the front door of the
chateau.

Stricken silent, turned to stone, Firmin sat with his mouth open, in
the midst of an unfinished word. Madame Firmin scuttled to the kitchen
door she had left unlocked on her return from the scullery, and locked
it. She turned, and they stared at one another.

The heavy knocker fell again and again and again. Between the knocking
there was a sound like the roaring of lions. Husband and wife stared at
one another with white faces. Firmin picked up his gun with trembling
hands, and the movement seemed to set his teeth chattering. They
chattered like castanets.

The knocking still went on, and so did the roaring.

It had gone on at least for five minutes, when a slow gleam of
comprehension lightened Madame Firmin's face.

"I believe it's the master's voice," she said.

"The master's voice!" said Firmin, in a hoarse, terrified whisper.

"Yes," said Madame Firmin. And she unlocked the thick door and opened
it a few inches.

The barrier removed, the well-known bellow of the millionaire came
distinctly to their ears. Firmin's courage rushed upon him in full
flood. He clumped across the room, brushed his wife aside, and trotted
to the door of the chateau. He unlocked it, drew the bolts, and threw
it open. On the steps stood the millionaire, Germaine, and Sonia. Irma
stood at the horse's head.

"What the devil have you been doing?" bellowed the millionaire. "What
do you keep me standing in the rain for? Why didn't you let me in?"

"B-b-b-burglars--I thought you were b-b-b-burglars," stammered Firmin.

"Burglars!" howled the millionaire. "Do I sound like a burglar?"

At the moment he did not; he sounded more like a bull of Bashan. He
bustled past Firmin to the door of the hall.

"Here! What's this locked for?" he bellowed.

"I--I--locked it in case burglars should get in while I was opening the
front door," stammered Firmin.

The millionaire turned the key, opened the door, and went into the
hall. Germaine followed him. She threw off her dripping coat, and said
with some heat: "I can't c