Thus the hours went by. M. Hilaire discovered that his wife had appropriated forty-two francs fifty centimes, and was waiting for her with an impatience which may well be imagined, when two tremendous blows from a fist sounded on the iron shutters and a voice growled "Fatalitas!"
It was two o'clock in the morning. At that same hour Didier was in the train to Paris thinking of the penal settlement for the first time without undue shame. As he heard that significant word Hilaire sprang from his office like a Jack-in-the-box shot up by a powerful spring, and tottered in the shop as if he had received one of those blows that make a man turn dizzy.
Hilaire felt certain that he recognized the voice which flung out the astounding word. Was such a thing possible?
It was so possible, indeed, that the word was repeated and fresh blows shook the shop front. And the voice, the curious voice which unhinged the mind of M. Hilaire, shouted:
"Open the door; I know you're alone!"
Trembling like a child who is frightened or overjoyed, Hilaire leant towards the small, low door in the shop front, unlocked and opened it. A huge form at once glided into the shop. The door was closed with a kick, and the figure displayed itself in its full proportions.
It was a man, or rather a human animal, tall of stature, square of build, thick-set, with tremendous limbs, and fists capable of felling an ox, and an extraordinary, fierce-looking head in which only the gleam in the eyes was visible.
"Chéri-Bibi!" gasped Hilaire, placing his hand on his heart like sensitive persons who are undergoing a moment of intense excitement.
"If any one asks you if I am Chéri-Bibi say you know nothing about me," growled Chéri-Bibi. "You took a long time to open the door. Have you forgotten me, Dodger?"
At these words Hilaire, who was deathly pale, stretched out his arms and fell upon the immense chest of the man whom he loved more than any being in the world.