He tapped on the door again and again.

Alice heard, but she hesitated to speak or move.

Was she growing cowardly?
Her heart beat like a drum.

There was but one person in all the world that she could think of--it was not M.Roussillon.Ah, no, she had well-nigh forgotten her gigantic foster father.
"It is I, ma cherie, it is Gaspard, my love, open the door," came in a booming half-whisper from without.

"Alice, Jean, it is your Papa Roussillon, my dears.