The footsteps stopped at his door. An instant later some one knocked.
"Who's there?" inquired a voice, with such a terrified accent, that Canolles could not have recognized it, had he not already had occasion to study all its variations.
"I!" said Canolles.
"What! you?" rejoined the voice, passing from terror to dismay.
"Yes. Fancy, viscount, that there's not a single unoccupied room in the inn. Your idiot of a Pompée didn't think of me. Not another inn in the whole village—and as your room has two beds—"
The viscount glanced in dismay at the two twin beds standing side by side in an alcove, and separated only by a table.
"Well, do you understand?" continued Canolles. "I claim one of them. Open the door quickly, I beg, for I am dead with cold—"
At that there was a great commotion inside the room, the rustling of clothes and hurried steps.
"Yes, yes, baron," said the viscount's voice, more dismayed than ever, "yes, I am coming, I—"