"A little house at Fontainebleau, with something like twenty acres of land round it."
"Very well, Planchet! Accept my compliments on your acquisition."
"But, monsieur, we are not comfortable here; the cursed dust makes you cough. Corbleu! I should not wish to poison the most worthy gentleman in the kingdom."
Athos did not smile at this little pleasantry which Planchet had aimed at him, in order to try his strength in mundane facetiousness.
"Yes," said he, "let us have a little talk by ourselves—in your own room, for example. You have a room, have you not?"
"Certainly, Monsieur le Comte."
"Upstairs, perhaps?" And Athos, seeing Planchet a little embarrassed, wished to relieve him by going first.
"It is—but—" said Planchet, hesitating.
Athos was mistaken in the cause of this hesitation, and, attributing it to a fear the grocer might have of offering humble hospitality—"Never mind, never mind," said he, still going up, "the dwelling of a tradesman in this quarter is not expected to be a palace. Come on!"
Raoul nimbly preceded him, and entered first. Two cries were heard simultaneously—we may say three. One of these cries dominated over the others; it was uttered by a woman. The other proceeded from the mouth of Raoul; it was an exclamation of surprise. He had no sooner made it than he shut the door sharply. The third was from fright; Planchet had proffered it.