Jacques Dollon was returning to consciousness! Slowly, painfully, his features contracting as at the remembrance of a horrible nightmare, the young man stretched his limbs, opened his eyes: he turned a dull gaze on those about him, a gaze which became one of stupefaction when he perceived these unknown faces gathered round his bed. His eyes fell on his housekeeper. He murmured:
'Mme ... Bé-ju ... je...,' and fell back into unconsciousness.
'Is he dead?' whispered Monsieur Agram.
The doctor smiled:
'Be reassured, monsieur: he lives; but he finds it terribly difficult to wake up. He has certainly swallowed some powerful narcotic and is still under its influence; but its effects will soon pass off now.'
The good doctor spoke the truth.
In a short time Jacques Dollon, making a violent effort, sat up. Casting scared and bewildered glances about him, he cried:
'Who are you? What do you want of me?... Ah, the ruffians! The bandits!'
'There is nothing to fear, monsieur. I am simply the doctor they have called in to attend to you! Be calm!... You must recover your senses, and tell us what has happened!'
Jacques Dollon pressed his hands to his forehead, as though in pain: