The Persian and Raoul welcomed this incident, which relieved them of inconvenient witnesses, for some of those door-shutters, having nothing else to do or nowhere to lay their heads, stayed at the Opera, from idleness or necessity, and spent the night there. The two men might have stumbled over them, waking them up and provoking a request for explanations. For the moment, M. Mifroid’s inquiry saved them from any such unpleasant encounters.
But they were not left to enjoy their solitude for long. Other shades now came down by the same way by which the door-shutters had gone up. Each of these shades carried a little lantern and moved it about, above, below and all around, as though looking for something or somebody.
“Hang it!” muttered the Persian. “I don’t know what they are looking for, but they might easily find us. … Let us get away, quick! … Your hand up, sir, ready to fire! … Bend your arm … more … that’s it! … Hand at the level of your eye, as though you were fighting a duel and waiting for the word to fire! … Oh, leave your pistol in your pocket. Quick, come along, downstairs. Level of your eye! Question of life or death! … Here, this way, these stairs!” They reached the fifth cellar. “Oh, what a duel, sir, what a duel!”
Once in the fifth cellar, the Persian drew breath. He seemed to enjoy a rather greater sense of security than he had displayed when they both stopped in the third; but he never altered the attitude of his hand. And Raoul, remembering the Persian’s observation—“I know these pistols can be relied upon”—was more and more astonished, wondering why anyone should be so gratified at being able to rely upon a pistol which he did not intend to use!
But the Persian left him no time for reflection. Telling Raoul to stay where he was, he ran up a few steps of the staircase which they had just left and then returned.