"To go to the cellar and fetch one's own wine."
"Ah! a jolly privilege. Go, then."
Borromée went out. Chicot watched him disappear, and then went to the wall and raised a picture, representing Credit killed by bad paymasters, behind which was a hole, through which you could see into the public room. Chicot knew this hole well, for it was his own making.
On looking through, he perceived Borromée, after placing his finger on his lips, as a sign of caution, say something to Bonhomet, who seemed to acquiesce by a nod of the head, after which Borromée took a light, which was always kept burning in readiness, and descended to the cellar. Then Chicot knocked on the wall in a peculiar manner. On hearing this knock, which seemed to recall to him some souvenir deeply rooted in his heart, Bonhomet started, and looked round him. Chicot knocked again impatiently, like a man angry at his first call not being answered. Bonhomet ran to the little room, and found Chicot standing there upright. At this sight Bonhomet, who, like the rest of the world, had believed Chicot dead, uttered a cry, for he believed he saw a ghost.
"Since when," said Chicot, "has a person like me been obliged to call twice?"
"Oh! dear M. Chicot, is it you or your shade?" cried Bonhomet.
"Whichever it be, since you recognize me, I hope you will obey me."
"Oh! certainly, dear M. Chicot."
"Then whatever noise you hear in this room, and whatever takes place here, do not come until I call you."
"Your directions will be the easier to obey, since they are exactly the same as your companion has just given to me."