Firmin stared at the decorated panels blankly.

The beauty of the scheme of decoration did not, at the moment, move him to admiration.
He looked fearfully round the empty hall and at the windows, black against the night.

Under the patter of the rain he heard footsteps--distinctly.

He went hastily clumping down the hall, and along the passage to the kitchen.
His wife was setting his supper on the table.
"My God!" he said.

"I haven't been so frightened since '70." And he mopped his glistening forehead with a dish-cloth.