w now, was her last breath?

Meantime, he had deviated from the straight course, inclining by a sort
of instinct to the right, towards the jetty and the harbour, the scene
of his daily labours. The great length of the Custom House loomed up all
at once like the wall of a factory. Not a soul challenged his approach,
and his curiosity became excited as he passed cautiously towards the
front by the unexpected sight of two lighted windows.

They had the fascination of a lonely vigil kept by some mysterious
watcher up there, those two windows shining dimly upon the harbour in
the whole vast extent of the abandoned building. The solitude could
almost be felt. A strong smell of wood smoke hung about in a thin haze,
which was faintly perceptible to his raised eyes against the glitter
of the stars. As he advanced in the profound silence, the shrilling of
innumerable cicalas in the dry grass seemed positively deafening to his
strained ears. Slowly, step by step, he found himself in the great hall,
sombre and full of acrid smoke.

A fire built against the staircase had burnt down impotently to a low
heap of embers. The hard wood had failed to catch; only a few steps at
the bottom smouldered, with a creeping glow of sparks defining their
charred edges. At the top he saw a streak of light from an open door. It
fell upon the vast landing, all foggy with a slow drift of smoke. That
was the room. He climbed the stairs, then checked himself, because he
had seen within the shadow of a man cast upon one of the walls. It was
a shapeless, high-shouldered shadow of somebody standing still, with
lowered head, out of his line of sight. The Capataz, remembering that he
was totally unarmed, stepped aside, and, effacing himself upright in a
dark corner, waited with his eyes fixed on the door.

The whole enormous ruined barrack of a place, unfinished, without
ceilings under its lofty roof, was pervaded by the smoke swaying to and
fro in the faint cross draughts playing in the obscurity of many lofty
rooms and barnlike passages. Once one of the swinging shutters came
against the wall with a single sharp crack, as if pushed by an impatient
hand. A piece of paper scurried out from somewhere, rustling along the
landing. The man, whoever he was, did not darken the lighted doorway.
Twice the Capataz, advancing a couple of steps out of his corner,
craned his neck in the hope of catching sight of what he could be at,
so quietly, in there. But every tim