ely too
much upon this. I knew that in his heart he was raging against me, and
that any moment might see his passion taking active shape.

"You must excuse my saying so, Monsieur Pharos," I said, rising from my
chair and moving toward the door, "but I think it would perhaps be
better for both of us to terminate this most unpleasant interview. It is
getting late and I am tired. With your permission, I will open the door
for you."

Seeing that I was determined he should go, and realising, I suppose,
that it was no use his staying longer, he also rose, and a more
evil-looking figure than he presented as he did so Victor Hugo himself
could scarcely have imagined. The light of the quaint old Venetian
hanging-lamp in the middle of the room fell full and fair upon his face,
showing me the deep-set gleaming eyes, the wrinkled, nut-cracker face,
and the extraordinary development of shoulder to which I have already
directed attention. Old man as he was, a braver man than myself might
have been excused had he declined the task of tackling him, and I had
the additional spur of knowing that if he got the better of me he would
show no mercy. For this reason alone I watched his every movement.

"Come, come, my foolish young friend," he said at length, "in spite of
my warning, here we are at a deadlock again! You really must not take
things so seriously. Had I had any idea that you were so determined not
to let me have the thing, I would not have dreamed of asking for it. It
was for your own good as well as mine that I did so. Now, since you
desire to turn me out, I will not force my presence upon you. But let us
part friends."

As he said this he advanced toward me with extended hand, leaning
heavily upon his stick, according to his custom, and to all intents and
purposes as pathetic an example of senile decrepitude as a man could
wish to see. If he were going off like this, I flattered myself I was
escaping from my horrible predicament in an easier manner than I had
expected. Nevertheless, I was fully determined, if I could but once get
him on the other side of the street door, no earthly consideration
should induce me ever to admit him to my dwelling again. His hand was
deathly cold--so cold, in fact, that even in my excitement I could not
help noticing it. I had scarcely done so, however, before a tremor ran
through his figure and, with a guttural noise that could scarcely be
described as a cry, he dropped my hand and sprang fo