He said to himself that in a certain recess, formed by the entrance to the cellar, assassins were perhaps concealed, who would suddenly spring at his throat as he passed along.
At last he pulled the bell, and lighting a match, made up his mind to enter the alley.

The match went out.

He stood motionless, breathless, without the courage to run away, rubbing lucifers against the damp wall in such anxiety that his hand trembled.

He fancied he heard voices, and the sound of footsteps before him.

The matches broke between his fingers; but he succeeded in striking one.