Gilardoni had fallen asleep. The hour was late, and he was, no doubt, weary with waiting.
Taking up the heavy lamp, Paul held it above his head as he entered the second chamber, which was a sitting-room.
Directly opposite to the door, in an oblique direction, was a couch, the first object on which Captain Desfrayne’s eyes rested.
At full length upon this couch, in an attitude that seemed to indicate the young man was enjoying an easy sleep, lay Leonardo Gilardoni.
Paul Desfrayne placed the lamp on a side table, and then said rather loudly:
“Gilardoni, my good fellow!”
The recumbent figure made no sign of awaking. Paul Desfrayne, seriously uneasy, but still fighting with his fears, crossed the room, and placed a hand on the sleeper’s shoulder.
“Gilardoni, awake!” he said, in a voice which, spite of his effort at self-constraint, trembled.
Not the faintest sound issued from the pallid lips. Not a movement showed the smallest sign of life.
Paul Desfrayne at last placed the palm of his hand upon the temples of the apparently sleeping man. They were almost ice-cold.