Louis passed to and fro behind the diners, his white cloth on his arm, carving and passing the wine. Mme. Petit brought in the dishes, and came in thrice as often as was necessary, her ears wide open, leaving the door ajar as often as she dared. Poor woman! she had prepared an excellent dinner, and nobody paid any attention to it.
M. Lecoq was fond of tit-bits; yet, when Louis placed on the table a dish of superb grapes—quite out of season—his mouth did not so much as expand into a smile. Dr. Gendron would have been puzzled to say what he had eaten. The dinner was nearly over, when M. Plantat began to be annoyed by the constraint which the presence of the servants put upon the party. He called to the cook:
"You will give us our coffee in the library, and may then retire, as well as Louis."
"But these gentlemen do not know their rooms," insisted Mme. Petit, whose eavesdropping projects were checked by this order. "They will, perhaps, need something."
"I will show them their rooms," said M. Plantat, dryly. "And if they need anything, I shall be here."
They went into the library. M. Plantat brought out a box of cigars and passed them round:
"It will be healthful to smoke a little before retiring."
M. Lecoq lit an aromatic weed, and remarked:
"You two may go to bed if you like; I am condemned, I see, to a sleepless night. But before I go to writing, I wish to ask you a few things, Monsieur Plantat."
M. Plantat bowed in token of assent.