"Burglars!" howled the millionaire. "Do I sound like a burglar?"
At the moment he did not; he sounded more like a bull of Bashan. He bustled past Firmin to the door of the hall,
"Here! What's this locked for?" he bellowed.
"I—I—locked it in case burglars should get in while I was opening the front door," stammered Firmin.
The millionaire turned the key, opened the door, and went into the hall. Germaine followed him. She threw off her dripping coat, and said with some heat: "I can't conceive why you didn't make sure that there was a train at a quarter to nine. I will not go to Paris to- night. Nothing shall induce me to take that midnight train!"
"Nonsense!" said the millionaire. "Nonsense—you'll have to go! Where's that infernal time-table?" He rushed to the table on to which he had thrown the time-table after looking up the train, snatched it up. and looked at the cover. "Why, hang it!" he cried. "It's for June—June, 1903!"
"Oh!" cried Germaine, almost in a scream. "It's incredible! It's one of Jacques' jokes!"
