The door opened. And a whirlwind entrance took place, amid a jingling of spurs and saber. The man who arrived in this fashion at once gave an impression of feverish haste and of imminent departure. What he intended to do he must accomplish within the space of a few minutes.
At a sign from him, all those present quitted the room.
The Emperor and the French officer were left face to face. And the Emperor immediately asked, in an angry voice:
"Who are you? What did you come to do? Who are your accomplices? By whose orders were you acting?"
It was difficult to recognize in him the figure represented by his photographs and the illustrations in the newspapers, for the face had aged into a worn and wasted mask, furrowed with wrinkles and disfigured with yellow blotches.
Paul was quivering with hatred, not so much a personal hatred aroused by the recollection of his own sufferings as a hatred made up of horror and contempt for the greatest criminal imaginable. And, despite his absolute resolve not to depart from the usual formulas and the rules of outward respect, he answered:
"Let them untie me!"
The Emperor started. It was the first time certainly that any one had spoken to him like that; and he exclaimed:
"Why, you're forgetting that a word will be enough to have you shot! And you dare! Conditions! . . ."
Paul remained silent. The Emperor strode up and down, with his hand on the hilt of his sword, which he dragged along the carpet. Twice he stopped and looked at Paul; and, when Paul did not move an eyelid, he resumed his march, with an increasing display of indignation. And, all of a sudden, he pressed the button of an electric bell: