One door was opened, then another.

The bolt of the front door was thrown back with an effort.

But neither Pyramus nor Thisbe, not even Kiss, the formidable Newfoundland, had made a sign.

He rose softly to see who those strange burglars could be, who were leaving the house instead of entering it; and this is what he saw through the slats of his blind: A tall, slender young man, with Georges's figure and carriage, arm-in-arm with a woman in a lace mantilla.

They stopped first at the bench by the Paulownia, which was in full bloom.
It was a superb moonlight night.