That was how I interpreted his final words when we parted: 'You may mention your suspicions of the expected attack to Monsieur Stangerson, to Daddy Jacques, to Frederic Larsan, and to anybody in the chateau.' "The poor fellow left me hardly knowing what he was saying.

My silence and my eyes told him that I had guessed a large part of his secret.

And, indeed, he must have been at his wits' end, to have come to me at such a time, and to abandon Mademoiselle Stangerson in spite of his fixed idea as to the consequence.
"When he was gone, I began to think that I should have to use even a greater cunning than his so that if the man should come that night, he might not for a moment suspect that his coming had been expected.
Certainly! I would allow him to get in far enough, so that, dead or alive, I might see his face clearly! He must be got rid of.

Mademoiselle Stangerson must be freed from this continual impending danger.
"Yes, my boy," said Rouletabille, after placing his pipe on the table, and emptying his mug of cider, "I must see his face distinctly, so as to make sure to impress it on that part of my brain where I have drawn my circle of reasoning." The landlady re-appeared at that moment, bringing in the traditional bacon omelette.

Rouletabille chaffed her a little, and she took the chaff with the most charming good humour.
"She is much jollier when Daddy Mathieu is in bed with his rheumatism," Rouletabille said to me.
But I had eyes neither for Rouletabille nor for the landlady's smiles.
I was entirely absorbed over the last words of my young friend and in thinking over Monsieur Robert Darzac's strange behaviour.
When he had finished his omelette and we were again alone, Rouletabille continued the tale of his confidences.
"When I sent you my telegram this morning," he said, "I had only the word of Monsieur Darzac, that 'perhaps' the assassin would come to-night.