burglars stick at nothing. They'd as soon cut your throat as look at
you."

"It can't be helped," said Jean. "Besides, you've got the post of
honour. You guard the hall. I'm to look after the drawing-rooms.
They're not likely to break in through the drawing-rooms. And I
shall lock the door between them and the hall."

"No, no; you won't lock that door!" cried Firmin.

"But I certainly will," said Jean. "You'd better come and get a
gun."

They went to the gun-room, Firmin still protesting against the
locking of the door between the drawing-rooms and the hall. He chose
his gun; and they went into the kitchen. Jean took two bottles of
wine, a rich-looking pie, a sweet, and carried them to the drawing-
room. He came back into the hall, gathered together an armful of
papers and magazines, and went back to the drawing-room. Firmin kept
trotting after him, like a little dog with a somewhat heavy
footfall.

On the threshold of the drawing-room Jean paused and said: "The
important thing with burglars is to fire first, old cock. Good-
night. Pleasant dreams."

He shut the door and turned the key. Firmin stared at the decorated
panels blankly. The beauty of the scheme of decoration did not, at
the moment, move him to admiration.