Should I rise
and seize my revolver? Impossible! He was there! At the least
movement, at the least cry, I was doomed.
Then came a terrific noise that shook the house; this was followed
by lighter sounds, two or three together, like those of a hammer
that rebounded. At least, that was the impression formed in my
confused brain. These were mingled with other sounds, thus
creating a veritable uproar which proved that the intruders were
not only bold, but felt themselves secure from interruption.
They were right. I did not move. Was it cowardice? No, rather
weakness, a total inability to move any portion of my body,
combined with discretion; for why should I struggle? Behind that
man, there were ten others who would come to his assistance.
Should I risk my life to save a few tapestries and bibelots?
Throughout the night, my torture endured. Insufferable torture,
terrible anguish! The noises had stopped, but I was in constant
fear of their renewal. And the man! The man who was guarding me,
weapon in hand. My fearful eyes remained cast in his direction.
And my heart beat! And a profuse perspiration oozed from every
pore of my body!
Suddenly, I experienced an immense relief; a milk-wagon, whose
sound was familiar to me, passed along the boulevard; and, at the
same time, I had an impression that the light of a new day was
trying to steal through the closed window-blinds.
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