ren . . . Adeline? . . . Who was that man who went before and led the way? . . . Was it a real man, that porter? . . . Or was it a dead man, walking? . . . Wasn't everything dead here? . . . Was it morning or was it evening? . . . Was it life or death? . . . Was he alive or was he dead? . . . Brrr, how cold he felt again! . . . Was that the cold of death? . . . What was this building which they now entered? . . . What a huge place! . . . Was it a church or was it only a tomb? . . . Where was he and why was he alone, alone with that dead man, that ghost showing him the way? . . . Where on earth was Constance and where was Van der Welcke? . . . Hadn't they brought it back from Paris, Pauline's blue body? . . . Was that Pauline? . . .
The coffin was open, covered only with a sheet; he lifted it, the sheet. . . . Brrr, brrr, how cold he was! . . . He remembered: Paris; yes, yes, he remembered: Paris; poor fellow; poor Henri! . . . But this, this wasn't Henri. . . . Who was it, who could it be? . . . Wasn't it Henri the policemen found? . . . What had become of those policemen? . . . When was it he met some policemen? . . . It was years since he met those policemen . . . and her body had turned quite blue. . . . What was the matter now? . . . What was that porter saying, hovering round him like a ghost? . . . .
