Pierre gently strokes Paul's temples, and in low tones says: "In this begrimed, blood-stained face I behold another boyish image, marred by paternal influence."
A ray of light steals through the transom, falling athwart that upturned youthful brow. Pierre smiles almost credulously. How deep that spirit sigh!
More habitual concern soon is felt. Where is Paul's pearl-handled dagger? How came he in possession of this new weapon? What mean these blood-stains and bedraggled clothes? Was tragic pose at time of Pierre's startled awakening suggestive of some murderous assault by the crazed Paul?
Absorbed in other emotions, Pierre had given no heed to these weighty problems. Powerless to enforce counsels of his own experienced craft, Pierre now and then lapsed into vaguely sentimental moods.
Slowly withdrawing that benumbed arm, Pierre noiselessly arises from the cot. He examines the dagger and mutters: "It is new and of English make! There is no other clew. Has some additional danger been incurred?"
Pierre can but wait, powerless to avert or modify any impending crisis. It will avail nothing to catechise the secretive Paul, who is garrulous upon irrelevant hallucinations only.
During that day and the following night Paul slept, waking only once, about nine o'clock in the evening. This was his usual hour for trip up the Thames. Paul stared around sleepily, looked at his watch, dubiously scanned the new dagger, slowly sank back and slept on until morning.
At seven Paul awoke with ravenous appetite. Pierre had prepared a substantial meal. This the hungry youth devoured with relish.
After breakfast Paul listlessly moved about the room. Spying in a small mirror his dirty, blood-besmeared face and matted hair, Paul starts backward, grasps the new weapon, stabs at that mirrored reflection, stares about wildly, and with maniacal yell bolts for the basement door.
To intercept this rash break, Pierre grasps his son about the waist, throwing him heavily upon the stone floor. Paul's writhing twists cannot loosen that hold. His muttering threats and curses move not Pierre's stern resolve. Frothing at the lips, Paul struggles desperately. He attempts to yell, but his voice weakens into gurglings. The neck relaxes and he sinks back unconscious.