'Well, I won't wake him,' she said to herself as she continued her journey upstairs. 'Let him get a stiff neck, if he likes.'
About midnight, when the whole house was wrapped in slumber, cries were heard proceeding from the first floor. At first they were but wails, but they soon grew into loud howls, like the hoarse, choking calls of one who is being murdered. Abbé Faujas, awaking with a start, called his mother, who scarcely gave herself time to slip on a petticoat before she went to knock at Rose's door.
'Come down immediately!' she said, 'I'm afraid Madame Mouret is being murdered.'
The screams became louder than ever. The whole house was soon astir. Olympe with her shoulders simply hidden by a kerchief, made her appearance with Trouche, who had only just returned home, slightly intoxicated. Rose hastened downstairs, followed by the lodgers.
'Open the door, madame, open the door!' she cried excitedly, hammering with her fist on Madame Mouret's door.
Deep sighs alone answered her; then there was the sound of a body falling, and a terrible struggle seemed to be taking place on the floor in the midst of overturned furniture. The walls shook with repeated heavy blows, and a sound like a death-rattle passed under the door, so terrible that the Faujases and the Trouches turned pale as they looked at each other.
'Her husband is murdering her,' murmured Olympe.
'Yes, you are right; the brute is killing her,' said the cook. 'I saw him pretending to be asleep when I came up to bed. But he was planning it all then.'
She once more thundered on the door with both her fists, repeating: