Whoever it was, Gilbert would be caught and expelled from the palace.
He fully comprehended that he was out of his place here. He blew out the candle and dashed into Nicole’s room, timing his movement as the thunder boomed in the heavens.
Through its glazed door he could see into the room he quitted and the anteroom.
In this latter burnt a night-light on a small table. Gilbert would have put that out also if he had time, but the steps creaked now on the landing. A man appeared on the sill, timidly glided through the antechamber, and shut the door which he bolted.
Gilbert held his breath, glued his face to the glass and listened with all his might.
The storm growled solemnly in the skies, large raindrops spattered on the windows, and in the corridor, an unfastened shutter banged sinisterly against the wall from time to time.
But the tumult of nature, these exterior sounds, however alarming, were nothing to Gilbert: all his thought, mind and being were concentrated in his gaze, fastened on this man.
Passing within two paces, this intruder walked into the other room. Gilbert saw him grope his way up to the bed, and make a gesture of surprise at finding it untenanted. He almost knocked the candle off the table with his elbow; but it fell on the table where the glass save-all jingled on the marble top.
“Nicole,” the stranger called twice, in a guarded voice.
“Why, Nicole?” muttered Gilbert. “Why does this man call on Nicole when he ought to address her mistress?”