But he was interrupted by the sound of a key grating in the lock. The door opposite opened and Mme. Dugrival appeared.
She approached slowly, took a chair and, producing a revolver from her pocket, cocked it and laid it on the table by the bedside.
"Brrrrr!" said the prisoner. "We might be at the Ambigu!... Fourth act: the Traitor's Doom. And the fair sex to do the deed.... The hand of the Graces.... What an honour!... Mme. Dugrival, I rely on you not to disfigure me."
"Hold your tongue, Lupin."
"Ah, so you know?... By Jove, how clever we are!"
"Hold your tongue, Lupin."
There was a solemn note in her voice that impressed the captive and compelled him to silence. He watched his two gaolers in turns. The bloated features and red complexion of Mme. Dugrival formed a striking contrast with her nephew's refined face; but they both wore the same air of implacable resolve.
The widow leant forward and said:
"Are you prepared to answer my questions?"
"Why not?"