The sulphur began to boil, to set fire to the wood, with a tardiness that increased his distress.

In the pale bluish light of the sulphur, in the vacillating glimmer, he fancied he could distinguish monstrous forms.

Then the match crackled, and the light became white and clear.
Laurent, relieved, advanced with caution, careful not to be without a match.

When he had passed the entrance to the cellar, he clung to the opposite wall where a mass of darkness terrified him.

He next briskly scaled the few steps separating him from the office of the hotel, and thought himself safe when he held his candlestick.