"Then I will call the hostess."
"Nonsense! the hostess has given up her bed to one of her guests, and has gone to the attic to sleep. So no one will come, my dear friend. After all, why call anybody? I need no assistance."
"But I—"
"Do you open the door, and I will thank you. I will feel my way to the bed, turn in, and that's the whole of it. Open the door, I beg."
"But there must be other rooms," said the viscount, in despair, "even if they are without beds. It's impossible that there are no other rooms. Let us call and inquire."
"But it's after half-past ten, my dear viscount. You will rouse the whole establishment. They will think the house is on fire. The result would be to keep everybody awake all night, and I am dying for want of sleep."
These last words seemed to reassure the viscount to some extent. Light steps approached the door, and it was softly opened.
Canolles entered and locked the door behind him. The viscount had fled precipitately.
The baron found himself in almost total darkness, for the last embers of the fire, which was dying out, gave out but a feeble flickering light. The atmosphere was warm and heavy with the perfumes which denote the most assiduous attention to the toilet.
"Ah! thanks, viscount," said Canolles; "in truth, one is much more comfortable here than in the corridor."