"He escapes! He escapes!"
Fandor did not know who had remained with him, who, had fled, whether he was on his head or his heels!... It was a momentary bewilderment; for the voice he had heard when the struggle was at its height was still speaking, calm, mocking.... It was the voice of Juve, saying:
"How exasperating!... These matches are no good at all!... Ah!... this one has decided to catch!"
In the uncertain light of the match flame Fandor perceived someone leaning against the wall—it was Trokoff!—Trokoff, who calmly went up to a table, took a candlestick, and lighted a candle! Throwing himself into an arm-chair, this Trokoff asked:
"Well now? Why the devil are you got up as Fantômas, my lad?... For a military prisoner this is not at all correct!"
Could Fandor believe his ears? his eyes?
Trokoff was Juve!
Fandor looked so bewildered that Juve-Trokoff laughed a merry laugh.
"Come now, my Fandor, try to gather your wandering wits together a bit and answer me!"
"You, Juve!... You are Juve!" gasped Fandor, exhausted in mind, and body with the emotions he had experienced.