Charles did not understand it; but it was evident that, like the toast following Mademoiselle de Brumpt's departure, this order was connected with the same event. It was also evident that the three other guests knew who Master Nicholas was, since they, who were so free to talk with Schneider, asked no questions. Charles would have asked his neighbor Monnet, but he dared not, for fear that Schneider would overhear the question and answer himself.
There was a short silence, during which a certain restraint seemed to have fallen upon the party; the expectation of coffee—that pleasant beverage of dessert—and even its arrival, had not the power to draw aside so much as a corner of the sombre veil in which this order of Schneider's seemed to have enveloped them.
Ten minutes passed thus. At the end of that time they heard three blows struck in a peculiar fashion.
The guests started; Edelmann buttoned up his coat, which had been for a minute half open; Young coughed, and Monnet turned as pale as his own shirt.
"It is he," said Euloge, frowning, and speaking in a preoccupied voice that to Charles seemed strangely altered.
The door opened, and the old woman announced: "The citizen Nicholas!"
Then she stood aside to allow the new-comer to pass, taking care as she did so that he should not touch her.
A small man, thin, pale, and grave, entered. He was dressed like any one else, and yet, without apparent reason for it, there was something in his appearance, his figure, and his whole air that impressed the beholder as strange and weird.
Edelmann, Young and Monnet drew back their chairs. Euloge alone moved his forward.