I have said that a door opened on a little staircase that led to the second cellar. The commissary pushed it, but it resisted.

“I say,” he said to the stage-manager, “I can’t open this door: is it always so difficult?”

The stage-manager forced it open with his shoulder. He saw that, at the same time, he was pushing a human body and he could not keep back an exclamation, for he recognized the body at once:

“Mauclair! Poor devil! He is dead!”

But Mr. Commissary Mifroid, whom nothing surprised, was stooping over that big body.

“No,” he said, “he is dead-drunk, which is not quite the same thing.”

“It’s the first time, if so,” said the stage-manager.