crossed the drawing-room like a flash,
and reached the little sitting-room without having jostled a single
piece of furniture. He noticed nothing, saw nothing. All around was
undisturbed and silent.

The first light of dawn filtered through the blinds. He was able to
make out that the only closed door was the one to Natacha's chamber. He
stopped before that door, his heart beating, and listened. But no sound
came to his ear. He had glided so lightly over the carpet that he was
sure he had not been heard. Perhaps that door would open. He waited. In
vain. It seemed to him there was nothing alive in that house except his
heart. He was stifled with the horror that he glimpsed, that he almost
touched, although that door remained closed. He felt along the wall
in order to reach the window, and pulled aside the curtain. Window and
blinds of the little room giving on the Neva were closed. The bar of
iron inside was in its place. Then he went to the passage, mounted and
descended the narrow servants' stairway, looked all about, in all the
rooms, feeling everywhere with silent hands, assuring himself that no
lock had been tampered with. On his return to the veranda, as he raised
his head, he saw at the top of the main staircase a figure wan as death,
a spectral apparition amid the shadows of the passing night, who leaned
toward him. It was Matrena Petrovna. She came down, silent as a phantoms
and he no longer recognized her voice when she demanded of him, "Where?
I require that you tell me. Where?"

"I have looked everywhere," he said, so low that Matrena had to come
nearer to understand his whisper. "Everything is shut tight. And there
is no one about."

Matrena looked at Rouletabille with all the power of her eyes, as though
she would discover his inmost thoughts, but his clear glance did not
waver, and she saw there was nothing he wished to hide. Then Matrena
pointed her finger at Natacha's chamber.

"You have not gone in there?" she inquired.

He replied, "It is not necessary to enter there."

"I will enter there, myself, nevertheless," said she, and she set her
teeth.

He barred her way with his arms spread out.

"If you hold the life of someone dear," said he, "don't go a step
farther."

"But the person is in that chamber. The person is there! It is there
you will find out!" And she waved him aside with a gesture as though she
were sleepwalking.

To recall her to the reality of what he had said to her and to m