landing, he knocked at Salvat's door, and profound silence alone answered
him. Not a breath was to be heard.

However, he knocked again, and as nothing stirred he began to think that
nobody could be there. Perhaps Salvat had returned to fetch the woman and
the child, and perhaps they had followed him to some humble nook abroad.
Still this would have astonished him; for the poor seldom quit their
homes, but die where they have suffered. So he gave another gentle knock.

And at last a faint sound, the light tread of little feet, was heard
amidst the silence. Then a weak, childish voice ventured to inquire: "Who
is there?"

"Monsieur l'Abbe."

The silence fell again, nothing more stirred. There was evidently
hesitation on the other side.

"Monsieur l'Abbe who came the other day," said Pierre again.

This evidently put an end to all uncertainty, for the door was set ajar
and little Celine admitted the priest. "I beg your pardon, Monsieur
l'Abbe," said she, "but Mamma Theodore has gone out, and she told me not
to open the door to anyone."

Pierre had, for a moment, imagined that Salvat himself was hiding there.
But with a glance he took in the whole of the small bare room, where man,
woman and child dwelt together. At the same time, Madame Theodore
doubtless feared a visit from the police. Had she seen Salvat since the
crime? Did she know where he was hiding? Had he come back there to