"You are wrong, Françoise."
"Then Monsieur will be good enough to spare my poor legs going up two flights of stairs and give M. Villenave this letter for him that has just come."
"Willingly, Françoise."
Françoise gave me the letter, and I took it and went upstairs. I knocked when I reached the door, but there was no answer. I knocked a little louder. Again no answer. I began to feel uncomfortable; the key was in the door, and the presence of that key invariably indicated the presence of M. Villenave in his room. Surely some accident must have happened to him. I knocked a third time, meaning to enter if I was not answered. There was no response, and I entered. M. Villenave was asleep in his arm-chair. The noise I made in entering and, perhaps, the draught that I caused, disturbed some magnetic influences, and M. Villenave uttered a cry, awoke and jumped up.
"Ah! pardon me," I exclaimed. "I beg a thousand pardons! I have disturbed you."
"Who are you? What is your business?" asked M. Villenave quickly.
"Why, upon my word, do you not recognise me?... Alexandre Dumas."
"Oh!" said M. Villenave, with a gasp.
"Really, monsieur," I said, "I am very sorry. I will withdraw."