I see his monstrous back, deformed by the shadow thrown by the candle.

He is no longer writing now, and the candle is on the parquet, over which he is bending--a position which serves my purpose.
"I hold my breath.

I mount the ladder.

I am on the uppermost rung of it, and with my left hand seize hold of the window-sill.

In this moment of approaching success, I feel my heart beating wildly.