the gleam of bare walls. He stole along the passage, and, mounting a
flight of steps, on which his feet sprung mournful echoes, proceeded
stealthily towards an apartment on the first floor. At this point the
darkness became impenetrable, for the _volets_ had been closed,
and in order to make his arrangements, it was necessary that he should
have a light. He paused, fumbling in his pocket; and then, with his
next step, blundered against a body, which swung from the contact, like
a human being suspended in mid-air.

Tournicquot leapt backwards in terror. A cold sweat bespangled him, and
for some seconds he shook so violently that he was unable to strike a
match. At last, when he accomplished it, he beheld a man, apparently
dead, hanging by a rope in the doorway.

"Ah, mon Dieu!" gasped Tournicquot. And the thudding of his heart
seemed to resound through the deserted house.

Humanity impelled him to rescue the poor wretch, if it was still to be
done. Shuddering, he whipped out his knife, and sawed at the cord
desperately. The cord was stout, and the blade of the knife but small;
an eternity seemed to pass while he sawed in the darkness. Presently
one of the strands gave way. He set his teeth and pressed harder, and
harder yet. Suddenly the rope yielded and the body fell to the ground.
Tournicquot threw himself beside it, tearing open the collar, and using
frantic efforts to restore animation. There was no result. He
persevered, but the body lay perfectly inert. He began to reflect that
it was his duty to inform the police of the discovery, and he asked
himself how he should account for his presence on the scene. Just as he
was considering this, he felt the stir of life. As if by a miracle the
man groaned.