* * * * *
But where was Bernier? I entered the lodge from the left, for I wished to know the meaning of the cry and of the shot which I had heard.
Mere Bernier was at the back of the room which was lighted only by a tiny taper. She was like a black bundle on a sofa. She must have been in bed when the shot was heard and she had hastily donned some clothing. I picked up the taper and brought it near. Her features were distorted with fear.
“Where is Bernier?” I asked.
“He is there,” she replied, trembling.
“There. Where is that?”
But she made no answer.
I took a few steps toward the interior of the lodge and I stumbled. I bent down to know what I had stepped upon and found out that it was Mere Bernier’s potatoes. I lowered the light and looked at the floor; it was strewn with potatoes; they had rolled everywhere. Could it be that Mme. Bernier had not gathered them up after Rouletabille had emptied out the bag?
I arose and turned to Mere Bernier.
“Someone fired off a pistol!” I said. “What has happened?”