“Yes,” said Athos, “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 the others; it emanated from a woman. Another proceeded from the mouth of Raoul; it was an exclamation of surprise. He had no sooner uttered it than he shut the door sharply. The third was from fright; it came from Planchet.
“I ask your pardon!” added he; “madame is dressing.”
Raoul had, no doubt, seen that what Planchet said was true, for he turned round to go downstairs again.
“Madame—” said Athos. “Oh! pardon me, Planchet, I did not know that you had upstairs—”
“It is Truchen,” added Planchet, blushing a little.