And now, somewhere, quite close, a hardly perceptible sound stirred, a sound of leaves moving . . . but different from the sound of leaves moving in the night breeze. . . .
As Lupin had foreseen, he was at once pervaded by an immense calm. All his adventurous being quivered with delight. The struggle was at hand, at last!
Another sound grated under the window, more plainly this time, but still so faint that it needed Lupin's trained ear to distinguish it.
Minutes, terrifying minutes. . . . The darkness was impenetrable. No light of star or moon relieved it.
And, suddenly, without hearing anything, he knew that the man was in the room.
And the man walked toward the bed. He walked as a ghost walks, without displacing the air of the room, without shaking the objects which he touched.
But, with all his instinct, with all his nervous force, Lupin saw the movements of the enemy and guessed the very sequence of his ideas.
He himself did not budge, but remained propped against the wall, almost on his knees, ready to spring.
He felt that the figure was touching, feeling the bed-clothes, to find the spot at which it must strike. Lupin heard its breath. He even thought that he heard the beating of its heart. And he noticed with pride that his own heart beat no louder than before . . . whereas the heart of the other . . . oh, yes, he could hear it now, that disordered, mad heart, knocking, like a clapper of a bell, against the cavity of the chest!
The hand of the other rose. . . .