The door of Miss Bordereau's room was open and I could see beyond it the
faintness of a taper. There was no sound--my footstep caused no one to stir.
I came further into the room; I lingered there with my lamp in my hand.
I wanted to give Miss Tita a chance to come to me if she were with her aunt,
as she must be. I made no noise to call her; I only waited to see
if she would not notice my light. She did not, and I explained this
(I found afterward I was right) by the idea that she had fallen asleep.
If she had fallen asleep her aunt was not on her mind, and my explanation
ought to have led me to go out as I had come. I must repeat again that it
did not, for I found myself at the same moment thinking of something else.
I had no definite purpose, no bad intention, but I felt myself held
to the spot by an acute, though absurd, sense of opportunity.
For what I could not have said, inasmuch as it was not in my mind
that I might commit a theft. Even if it had been I was confronted
with the evident fact that Miss Bordereau did not leave her secretary,
her cupboard, and the drawers of her tables gaping. I had no keys,
no tools, and no ambition to smash her furniture. Nonetheless it came
to me that I was now, perhaps alone, unmolested, at the hour of temptation
and secrecy, nearer to the tormenting treasure than I had ever been.
I held up my lamp, let the light play on the different objects as if it
could tell me something.
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