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covered with thick curtains, above which was written in crudely traced let ters: The entrance is here. So the entrance was there. Thomas went back to it again, and reproaching himself for having overlooked it, he studied the massive door with an almost painful concentration; it was heavily set on iron hinges and was made of solid oak so thick as to defy any assault. It was a skillful piece of carpentry, ornamented with intricate sculptures, but it appeared no less rough and massive for all that and would have seemed in its proper place in an underground passage whose exit it would have hermetically sealed. Thomas moved closer to inspect the lock; he tried to move the bolt and saw that a simple piece of wood, wedged tightly into the stone, held the door in its slot. It would take nothing to push it in. But he remain-ed wanted also to be able to leave whenever he wished. After waiting patiently for a few moments, he was startled by the noise of a violent quarrel that seemed to have erupted on the other side of the wall. As far as he could judge, this incident was occurring in one of those ground floor rooms that sank below street level and were repulsively filthy. The noise soon began to annoy him -the shouts echoed oppressively, but he could not tell how they reached his ears with such force. He could not remember ever hearing cries at once so raucous, strident, and smothered. One would have thought that the quarrel had erupted in an atmosphere of harmony and friendship so perfect that it could be broken only by the most terrible curses. At first Thomas found it irksome to be the witness of such a scene. He looked around and thought of how he could leave this place. But since the shouting was becoming more familiar, without losing any of its violence, he thought that it was too late. He raised his own voice in turn and asked through the din if he could enter. No one answered, but a silence fell, a strange silence in which accusations and anger were expressed even more sharply than in shouts and noise. Certain that he had been heard, he won3
    dered how they would respond to his appeal. He had brought some sup plies, and although he was not hungry, he ate a little to gain some strength. When he had finished, he took off his overcoat, folded it, and, stretching out on the floor, laid his head on it like a pillow. It was not long before his eyes were closed. He had no desire to sleep, but he rested in a feeling of calm that for him took the place of sleep and carried him far away from here. The same calm reigned outside. It was a tranquility so assured and disdainful that he felt he had behaved foolishly in thinking of nothing but his rest. Why did he remain where he was without doing anything? Why was he waiting for help that would never come? He began to feel a great nostalgia, but soon there was nothing greater than his fatigue, and he fell fast asleep. When he woke, nothing had changed. Raising himself up, he leaned on his elbow and listened for a few moments. The silence was not unpleasant; neither hostile nor strange, it was simply impenetrable, that was all. Seeing that he was still forgotten inside the house, Thomas tried to sleep a second time. And yet, though he was still weary, he could not find sleep again. He fell into a momentary doze, then woke abruptly wondering whether indeed this really was sleep. No, it was not real sleep. It was a restfulness in which his worries fell out of sight but that nonetheless made him even more sad and anxious. He grew so tired that when he woke again, he was not at all happy to see a man with thick hair and troubled eyes waiting for him in the doorway. It was even a rather unpleasant surprise. "What's this?" he said to himself. "Is that the man they've sent for me?" Never theless, he stood up, shook out his coat, tried in vain to brush away its wrinkles, and, having taken all the time he needed, made as if to enter. The guardian let him take a few steps and seemed unaware of his