"Yours?" said the hostess. "Come this way, monsieur, and I'll take you to it."
Without apparently noticing Canolles' ill-humor, she led him to the farther end of an exterior corridor, lavishly supplied with doors, and separated from the viscount's room by the width of the court-yard.
The viscount stood at his door looking after them.
"Now," said Canolles, "I am sure of my fact; but I have acted like a fool. To put a bad face on the matter would ruin me irretrievably; I must assume my most gracious air."
He went out again upon the sort of gallery formed by the exterior corridor, and cried,—
"Good-night, my dear viscount; sleep well! you sadly need it. Shall I wake you in the morning? No? Very well, then, do you wake me when you choose. Good-night!"
"Good-night, baron!"
"By the way," continued Canolles, "is there nothing you lack? shall I lend you Castorin to wait upon you?"
"Thanks! I have Pompée; he sleeps in the next room."
"A wise precaution; I will see that Castorin does the same. A prudent measure, eh, Pompée? One can't take too many precautions at an inn. Good-night, viscount!"