"Stay, it is he," cried D'Harmental, running to the door and opening it.
"Thank you," said Valef, "for your assistance, which is very seasonable, for I was just going away, convinced that Brigaud must have made a mistake, and that no Christian could live at such a height, and in such a pigeon-hole. I must certainly bring Madame de Maine here, that she may know what she owes you."
"God grant," said the Abbe Brigaud, "that we may not all be worse lodged a few days hence!"
"Ah! you mean the Bastille! It is possible, abbe; but at least one does not go to the Bastille of one's own accord; moreover, it is a royal lodging, which raises it a little, and makes it a place where a gentleman may live without degradation; but a place like this—fie, abbe!"
"If you knew what I have found here," said D'Harmental, a little piqued, "you would be as unwilling to leave it as I am."
"Ah, some little bourgeoise; some Madame Michelin, perhaps. Take care, D'Harmental; these things are only allowed to Richelieu. With you and me, who are perhaps worth as much as he is, but are unfortunately not quite so much in fashion, it will not do."
"Well," said the Abbe Brigaud, "although your conversation is somewhat frivolous, I hear it with pleasure, since it assures me that our affairs are not so bad as I thought."
"On the contrary, the conspiracy is gone to the devil."
"How so?"
"I scarcely thought they would leave me time to bring you the news."