that its shrill sound must also reach any one below.

They waited. The silence became terrifying and the very breeze no
longer shook the leaves of the shrubs.

"I'm frightened--frightened," said Suzanne.

And, suddenly, from the profound darkness below them, came the sound
of a struggle, a crash of furniture overturned, words, exclamations
and then, horrible and ominous, a hoarse groan, the gurgle of a man
who is being murdered--

Raymonde leapt toward the door. Suzanne clung desperately to her
arm:

"No--no--don't leave me--I'm frightened--"

Raymonde pushed her aside and darted down the corridor, followed by
Suzanne, who staggered from wall to wall, screaming as she went.
Raymonde reached the staircase, flew down the stairs, flung herself
upon the door of the big drawing room and stopped short, rooted to
the threshold, while Suzanne sank in a heap by her side. Facing
them, at three steps' distance, stood a man, with a lantern in his
hand. He turned it upon the two girls, blinding them with the light,
stared long at their pale faces, and then, without hurrying, with
the calmest movements in the world, took his cap, picked up a scrap
of paper and two bits of straw, removed some footmarks from the
carpet, went to the balcony, turned to the girls, made them a deep
bow and disappeared.