Whom did he mean by "the other one"? Me?
In point of fact, he turned to the left, that is towards the part of the house where the door was:
"Damn it!" he swore, almost immediately.
There was an ejaculation. And then I heard nothing more from that direction.
What had happened? Had Velmot knocked against the wall, in the dark, or against an open shutter?
I could not see him from where I stood. The table and chair were faintly outlined in the gloom. Beyond was the pitchy darkness from which came Massignac's muffled whimper.
"Velmot is on his way," I said to myself. "A few seconds more and he will be here."
The reason for his coming I did not understand, any more than the reason for trepanning me. Did he think that I knew the formula and that I had refrained from denouncing Massignac because of an understanding between him and myself? In that case, did he mean to compel me to speak, by employing with me the same methods as with his former accomplice? Or was it a question of Bérangère between us, of the Bérangère whom we both loved and whose name, to my surprise, he had not even mentioned to Massignac? These were so many problems to which he would provide the reply:
"That is," I thought, "if he comes."
For, after all, he was not there; and there was not a sound in the house. What was he doing? For some little while I stood with my ear glued to the door by which he should have entered, ready to defend myself though unarmed.