climbing for hours, in such a maze, amidst such a turning and twisting
of stairs that she would never be able to find her way down again.
Inside the studio there was a shuffling of heavy feet, a rustling of
hands groping in the dark, a clatter of things being tumbled about,
accompanied by stifled objurgations. At last the doorway was lighted
up.

'Come in, it's all right now.'

She went in and looked around her, without distinguishing anything.
The solitary candle burned dim in that garret, more than fifteen feet
high, and filled with a confused jumble of things whose big shadows
showed fantastically on the walls, which were painted in grey
distemper. No, she did not distinguish anything. She mechanically
raised her eyes to the large studio-window, against which the rain was
beating with a deafening roll like that of a drum, but at that moment
another flash of lightning illumined the sky, followed almost
immediately by a thunder-clap that seemed to split the roof.
Dumb-stricken, pale as death, she dropped upon a chair.

'The devil!' muttered Claude, who also was rather pale. 'That clap
wasn't far off. We were just in time. It's better here than in the
streets, isn't it?'

Then he went towards the door, closed it with a bang and turned the
key, while she watched him with a dazed look.

'There, now, we are at home.'

But it was all over. There were only a few more thunder-claps in the