The muttering, too, had stopped, and all was still--in the room, and in the silent house.

I tried again.

'It is I, Gaston de Marsac,' I said.

'Do you hear?
I am come to release you.' I spoke as loudly as I dared, but most of the sound seemed to come back on me and wander in suspicious murmurings down the staircase.
This time, however, an exclamation of surprise rewarded me, and a voice, which I recognised at once as mademoiselle's, answered softly: 'What is it?
Who is there ?' 'Gaston de Marsac,' I answered.

'Do you need my help ?' The very brevity of her reply; the joyful sob which accompanied it, and which I detected even through the door; the wild cry of thankfulness--almost an oath--of her companion--all these assured me at once that I was welcome--welcome as I had never been before--and, so assuring me, braced me to the height of any occasion which might befall.
'Can you open the door?
I muttered.