"It is he!" she thought; after standing for a moment half stunned, she
dragged herself as far as the stairs, and leaning over, listened with
fear and trembling. At first she could hear nothing but the beating of
her heart; then she heard the other noise again, and more distinctly.
Somebody was turning the handle of the door, trying to open it. The
unexpected obstacle of the bolt doubtless exasperated the would-be
visitor, for the door was shaken and pushed with a violence which
threatened to break the lock or push down the door.

Madame de Bergenheim's first thought was to run into her chamber and lock
the door behind her;--the second showed her the danger that might result
if the slightest noise should reach other ears. Not a moment was to be
lost in hesitation. The young woman quickly descended the stairs and
drew the bolt. The door opened softly and closed with the same
precaution. The lamp from the parlor threw a feeble light upon the upper
steps of the staircase, but the lower ones were in complete darkness. It
was with her heart rather than her eyes that she recognized Octave; he
could distinguish Madame de Bergenheim only in an indistinct way by her
white dress, which was faintly outlined in the darkness; she stood before
him silent and trembling with emotion, for she had not yet thought of a
speech that would send him away.

He also felt the embarrassment usual in any one guilty of so foolhardy an
action. He had expected to surprise Clemence, and he found her upon her
guard; the thought of the disloyal part he was playing at this moment
made the blood mount to his cheeks and took away, for the time being, his
ordinary assurance. He sought in vain for a speech which might first
justify him and then conquer her. He had recourse to a method often
employed in the absence of eloquence. He fell on his knees before the