Firmin locked the door of the hall; then he locked the door of the
kitchen; then he sat down, and began to eat his supper. His appetite
was hearty, but none the less he derived little pleasure from the
meal. He kept stopping with the food poised on his fork, midway
between the plate and his mouth, for several seconds at a time,
while he listened with straining ears for the sound of burglars
breaking in the windows of the hall. He was much too far from those
windows to hear anything that happened to them, but that did not
prevent him from straining his ears. Madame Firmin ate her supper
with an air of perfect ease. She felt sure that burglars would not
bother with the kitchen.

Firmin's anxiety made him terribly thirsty. Tumbler after tumbler of
wine flowed down the throat for which he feared. When he had
finished his supper he went on satisfying his thirst. Madame Firmin
lighted his pipe for him, and went and washed up the supper-dishes
in the scullery. Then she came back, and sat down on the other side
of the hearth, facing him. About the middle of his third bottle of
wine, Firmin's cold, relentless courage was suddenly restored to
him. He began to talk firmly about his duty to his master, his
resolve to die, if need were, in defence of his interests, of his
utter contempt for burglars--probably Parisians. But he did not go
into the hall. Doubtless the pleasant warmth of the kitchen fire
held him in his chair.

He had described to his wife, with some ferocity, the cruel manner
in which he would annihilate the first three burglars who entered
the hall, and was proceeding to describe his method of dealing with
the fourth, when there came a loud knocking on the front door of the