picked up his gun with trembling hands, and the movement seemed to set his teeth chattering. They chattered like castanets.
The knocking still went on, and so did the roaring.
It had gone on at least for five minutes, when a slow gleam of comprehension lightened Madame Firmin's face.
"I believe it's the master's voice," she said.
"The master's voice!" said Firmin, in a hoarse, terrified whisper.
"Yes," said Madame Firmin. And she unlocked the thick door and opened it a few inches.
The barrier removed, the well-known bellow of the millionaire came distinctly to their ears. Firmin's courage rushed upon him in full flood. He clumped across the room, brushed his wife aside, and trotted to the door of the château. He unlocked it, drew the bolts, and threw it open. On the steps stood the millionaire, Germaine, and Sonia. Irma stood at the horse's head.
"What the devil have you been doing?" bellowed the millionaire. "What do you keep me standing in the rain for? Why didn't you let me in?"
"B-b-b-burglars—I thought you were b-b-b-burglars," stammered Firmin.
