better and the surest plan for him had been to wait in the
'porte-cochere' across the street; from there he could watch the
'concierge', who would not be able to go out without being seen by him.
But though the passers were few at this moment, they might have observed
him. Next to this 'porte-cochere' was a small 'cafe', whose brilliant
lights would cause him to be seen quite plainly. He, therefore, walked
on, but soon returned.

All irresolution, all hesitation, had disappeared, and the only point on
which he still questioned himself bore upon the state in which he found
himself at this moment. He felt himself firm, and his pulse, he
was certain, beat regularly. He was as he had imagined he would be;
experience confirmed his foresight; his hand would tremble no more than
his will.

As he passed before the house he saw the concierge come slowly out of
her lodge and close her door carefully, putting the key in her pocket.
In her left hand she held something white that he could not see
distinctly in the twilight, but it was probably the wax-taper which,
doubtless, she had not lighted for fear the wind would blow it out.

This was a favorable circumstance, that gave him one or two minutes more
than he had counted on, for she would be obliged to strike a match on
the stairs to light her taper; and, in the execution of his plan, two
minutes, a single minute even, might be of great importance.

With dragging steps and bent back she disappeared through the vestibule
of the stairway. Then Saniel continued his walk like an ordinary
passer-by until she had time to reach the first story; then, turning,
he returned to the porte-cochere and entered quietly. By the gaslight
in the vestibule he saw by his watch, which he held in his hand, that
it was fourteen minutes after five o'clock. Then, if his calculation
was right, at twenty-four or twenty-five minutes after five he must pass
before the lodge, which should still be empty at that moment.

On the staircase above him he heard the heavy step of the concierge; she
had lighted the gas on the first story, and continued on her way slowly.
With rapid but light steps he mounted behind her, and, on reaching
Caffie's door, he rang the bell, taking care not to ring too loudly or
too timidly; then he knocked three times, as Caffie had instructed him.

Was Caffie alone?

Up to this time all had gone as he wished; no one in the vestibule, no
one on the stairs; fate was in his favor; wou