What was more easy for a man who was still young and vigorous, desperate besides, than to climb from the garden to the window of the neighbouring room? Besides, he was living in the hotel, since, at night- time, he was taking a walk in the garden. Perhaps—probably—in fact, undoubtedly he knew that his uncle’s black bag contained a fat wad of banknotes. … And that dull thud, like the blow of a club on a bald head! … that stifled cry! … that frightful oath! … and then those steps! That nephew had the face of a murderer … but murders aren’t committed in an hotel full of officers. Without a doubt that Englishman had shot his door bolt like a prudent man, especially knowing the rogue to be in the neighbourhood! He distrusted him since he hadn’t wanted to speak to him with his bag in his hand. Why give himself up to hideous thoughts when he is so happy?

That’s what Leo was saying to himself in his mind. Wrapped up in his thoughts which I shall refrain from analysing at greater length, and which rose before him almost as confused as the visions of a dream, he had his eyes fixed mechanically on the communication door between the blue room and that of the Englishman.

In France doors shut badly. Between this one and the floor there was a space of at least two centimetres. Suddenly in this space, hardly distinguishable by the reflection of the floor, appeared something darkish, flat, like the blade of a knife, for the edge, struck by the light of the candle, showed a thin, very brilliant line. This moved slowly in the direction of a little blue-satin slipper, thrown down indiscreetly a little distance from the door. Was it some insect like a centipede? … No, it was not an insect. It had no fixed shape. Two or three brown tracks, each with its line of light at the edges, have penetrated into the room. They roll down more quickly, thanks to the slope of the floor. They advance rapidly, they come and touch the little slipper lightly. No more doubt! It is a liquid, and this liquid, as one sees the colour distinctly now in the light of the candle, was blood! And while Leo, motionless, watched horror-stricken these terrible tracks, the young woman slept still her tranquil sleep, and her regular breathing warmed the neck and shoulder of her lover.

The care that Leo had shown in ordering dinner immediately on his arrival at the hotel of N—, proves sufficiently well that he had a pretty good head, an educated intelligence, and that he knew how to foresee emergencies. He did not prove false on this occasion to the character we have already recognized in him. He made no movement, and all the power of his wits was strained in the effort to come to some resolution in face of the frightful misfortune which threatened him.

I imagine that the majority of my readers, and above all my lady readers, filled with heroic sentiments, will blame in this conjuncture the conduct and immobility of Leo. He ought, someone will say to me, he ought to have run to the Englishman’s room and arrested the murderer; at the very least pulled his bell, and roused by its clamour the people of the hotel. To that I shall answer first, that in French hotels bells are only put in for chamber ornaments, and that their ropes have no relation with any metallic apparatus. I shall add respectfully but firmly that, if it is wrong to let an Englishman die in the next room, it is not praiseworthy to sacrifice to him a lady who is sleeping with her head on your shoulder. What would have happened if Leo had made enough racket to wake the hotel? The police, the imperial prosecutor, and his clerk would have arrived at once. Before asking him what he had seen or heard these gentlemen are, by profession, so curious that they would have said to him first of all:

‘What’s your name? Your papers? and madame? What were you doing together in the blue room? You will have to appear at the Assize Court to state that on the so-and-so of such a month, at such an hour of night, you were the witnesses of such an act.’

Now it is precisely this idea of the imperial prosecutor and the minions of justice that was the first to spring up before Leo’s mind. There occur sometimes in life cases of conscience difficult to settle: is it better to let an unknown traveller have his throat cut, or to dishonour and disgrace the lady one loves?

It is not agreeable to have to set oneself such a question. I give the cleverest of you ten guesses to find the answer.