"There it is!"
She pointed to the window above them with suppressed excitement.
There were almost imperceptible cleats cleverly laid across the corrugated tiling; for the roof had a pitch of fifty degrees, and the casement was half-way up the slope.
"It must be so," he said. "Wait!"
With the lantern concealed beneath his coat he scrambled noiselessly up and examined the window. It was not fastened. Whoever had passed here last had come this way. He opened it a little, then wider.
"Come! Quickly!"
Even as he called to her Jean threw open wide the windows,—which folded from within, like all French windows—and entered, leaving Mlle. Fouchette to follow at will. That damsel's catlike nature made a roof a mere playground, and she was almost immediately behind him.
"Mon Dieu! What is this?"
They had descended four steps to the floor, and now the exclamation burst from them simultaneously.
For a minute they stood, half breathless, looking about them.