“Oh! don’t bother about me; I shan’t know till later in the day whether I go or stay. If the new-comer means to remain give him No. l. I will content myself with No. 2.”
“The gentleman is served,” said the waiter, looking through the door which led from the kitchen to the common room.
Montbar nodded and accepted the invitation. He entered the common room just as Roland came into the kitchen. The dinner was on the table. Montbar changed his plate and sat down with his back to the door. The precaution was useless. Roland did not enter the common room, and Montbar breakfasted without interruption. When dessert was over, however, the host himself brought in his coffee. Montbar understood that the good man was in talkative humor; a fortunate circumstance, for there were certain things he was anxious to hear about.
“Well,” said Montbar, “what became of our man? Did he only change horses?”
“No, no, no,” said the landlord; “as you said, he’s an aristocrat. He ordered breakfast in his own room.”
“His room or my room?” asked Montbar; “for I’m certain you put him in that famous No. 1.”
“Confound it! Monsieur de Jayat, it’s your own fault. You told me I could do as I liked.”
“And you took me at my word; that was right. I shall be satisfied with No. 2.”
“You’ll be very uncomfortable. It’s only separated from No. 1 by a partition, and you can hear everything that happens from one room to the other.”
“Nonsense, my dear man, do you think I’ve come here to do improper things, or sing seditious songs, that you are afraid the stranger should hear or see what I do?”