The chevalier had only been a few minutes at his window when he saw Roquefinette appear at the corner of the Rue Montmartre. He was mounted on a dapple-gray horse, both swift and strong, and evidently chosen by a connoisseur. He came along leisurely, like a man to whom it is equally indifferent whether he is seen or not. On arriving at the door he dismounted, fastened up his horse, and ascended the stairs. As on the day before, his face was grave and pensive, his compressed lips indicated some fixed determination, and D'Harmental received him with a smile, which met with no answer on the captain's face. D'Harmental at a glance took in all these different signs.
"Well, captain," said he, "I see that you are still punctuality itself."
"It is a military habit, chevalier, and is not astonishing in an old soldier."
"I did not doubt you, but you might not have been able to meet your men."
"I told you I knew where to find them."
"And where are they?"
"In the horse-market at the Porte Saint Martin."
"Are you not afraid they will be noticed?"
"How should twelve or fifteen men dressed as peasants be noticed among three hundred other peasants, buying and selling horses? It is like a needle in a bottle of hay, which none but myself can find."
"But how can these men accompany you, captain?"