“My cloak,” said Grimaud, from the bottom of the hold.
“What do you want?” asked Blaisois.
“My cloak—stop up the aperture with it.”
“Why?” asked Blaisois.
“Simpleton!” exclaimed Mousqueton; “suppose any one came into the room.”
“Ah, true,” cried Blaisois, with evident admiration; “but it will be dark in the cellar.”
“Grimaud always sees, dark or light, night as well as day,” answered Mousqueton.
“That is lucky,” said Blaisois. “As for me, when I have no candle I can’t take two steps without knocking against something.”
“That’s because you haven’t served,” said Mousqueton. “Had you been in the army you would have been able to pick up a needle on the floor of a closed oven. But hark! I think some one is coming.”
Mousqueton made, with a low whistling sound, the sign of alarm well known to the lackeys in the days of their youth, resumed his place at the table and made a sign to Blaisois to follow his example.