"Well, then, I am the Comte Annibal de Coconnas," said the same voice.
"And I am the Comte Lerac de la Mole," said another voice, which had not as yet been heard.
"Wait, wait, gentlemen, I am at your service."
And at the same moment Réné drew the bolts and, lifting the bars, opened the door to the two young men locking it after him. Then, conducting them by the exterior staircase, he introduced them into the second compartment.
La Mole, as he entered, made the sign of the cross under his cloak. He was pale, and his hand trembled without his being able to repress this symptom of weakness.
Coconnas looked at everything, one after the other; and seeing the door of the cell, was about to open it.
"Allow me to observe, my dear young gentleman," said Réné, in his deep voice, and placing his hand on Coconnas's, "those that do me the honor of a visit have access only to this part of the room."
"Oh, very well," replied Coconnas; "besides, I feel like sitting down." And he took a seat.
There was unbroken silence for a moment—Maître Réné was waiting for one or the other of the young men to open the conversation.
"Maître Réné," at length said Coconnas, "you are a skilful man, and I pray you tell me if I shall always remain a sufferer from my wound—that is, always experience this shortness of breath, which prevents me from riding on horseback, using my sword, and eating larded omelettes?"