“Oh!” said M. Verduret smilingly, “you are not out of the woods yet. You are not married either: so you must wait a little longer; patience and faith.”
The clock struck six.
“Good heavens!” exclaimed M. Verduret. “Can it be six o’clock? I did hope to have a good night’s rest, but I must keep on moving. This is no time to be asleep.”
He went into the passage, and, leaning over the balusters, called, “Mme. Alexandre! I say, Mme. Alexandre!”
The hostess of the Archangel, the portly wife of Fanferlot the Squirrel, evidently had not been to bed. This fact struck Prosper.
She appeared, obsequious, smiling, and eager to please.
“What can I do for you, gentlemen?” she inquired.
“You can send your—Joseph Dubois and Palmyre to me as soon as possible. Let me know when they arrive. I will rest a few minutes, and you can awake me when they come.”
As soon as Mme. Alexandre left the room, the fat man unceremoniously threw himself on the bed.
“You have no objections, I suppose?” he said to Prosper.