paused and said: "The important thing with burglars is to fire first, old cock. Good-night. Pleasant dreams."
He shut the door and turned the key. Firmin stared at the decorated panels blankly. The beauty of the scheme of decoration did not, at the moment, move him to admiration.
He looked fearfully round the empty hall and at the windows, black against the night. Under the patter of the rain he heard footsteps—distinctly. He went hastily clumping down the hall, and along the passage to the kitchen.
His wife was setting his supper on the table.
"My God!" he said. "I haven't been so frightened since '70." And he mopped his glistening forehead with a dish-cloth. It was not a clean dish-cloth; but he did not care.
"Frightened? What of?" said his wife.
"Burglars! Cut-throats!" said Firmin.
He told her of the fears of M. Gournay-Martin, and of his own appointment to the honourable and dangerous post of guard of the château.
"God save us!" said his wife. "You lock the door of that beastly hall, and come into the kitchen. Burglars won't bother about the kitchen."
"But the master's treasures!" protested
