"It's really very strange."

"Listen, listen!" Hortense repeated, in bewilderment. "Can it be possible?"

They heard, not far from where they were standing, a sharp sound, the sound
of a light tap recurring at regular intervals; and they had only to listen
attentively to recognise the ticking of a clock. Yes, it was this and
nothing else that broke the profound silence of the dark room; it was
indeed the deliberate ticking, rhythmical as the beat of a metronome,
produced by a heavy brass pendulum. That was it! And nothing could be more
impressive than the measured pulsation of this trivial mechanism, which by
some miracle, some inexplicable phenomenon, had continued to live in the
heart of the dead chateau.

"And yet," stammered Hortense, without daring to raise her voice, "no one
has entered the house?"

"No one."

"And it is quite impossible for that clock to have kept going for twenty
years without being wound up?"

"Quite impossible."

"Then ...?"

Serge Renine opened the three windows and threw back the shutters.

He and Hortense were in a drawing-room, as he had thought; and the room