Fandor was roused from this retrospect: he grew pale, his heart seemed to stop its beating: the taxi he was pursuing had slowed down—had drawn up beside the pavement—had stopped in front of Juve's old home!
Fandor saw the navvy descend from the taxi, pay his fare, and enter the house, still keeping his right hand pressed to his cheek. Without a moment's reflection, Fandor leapt from his taxi, flung a five-franc piece to his driver, and without waiting for the change he rushed into the house, whose passages and stairs were so familiar.
The navvy was swiftly mounting the stairs in front of our excited young journalist, who was close on his quarry's heels: the two men were panting as they went up that dark staircase.
At the fourth floor, Fandor was nearly overcome by emotion, for the man entered Juve's old flat as if he had a right to do so.
He was on the point of shutting the door in the face of his pursuer, but Fandor had foreseen this. He slipped through with a forceful push and caught the navvy by his jacket.
Quick as lightning the navvy turned, and the two men stood face to face.... The result was startling!
Speechless they stared at each other for what seemed an interminable moment; then, with a strangled cry, Fandor fell into the man's arms, and was crushed in a strong embrace. Two cries escaped from their lips at the same moment:
"Juve!"
"Fandor!"