“Go to the devil!” broke in the voice.
“But, sir”—
“Let me sleep, rascal. I have not been able to close an eye till now.” The magistrate, becoming impatient, pushed the servant aside, and, seizing the door-knob tried to open it; it was locked inside. But he lost no time in saying,—
“It is I, M. de Boiscoran: open, if you please!”
“Ah, dear M. Galpin!” replied the voice cheerfully.
“I must speak to you.”
“And I am at your service, illustrious jurist. Just give me time to veil my Apollonian form in a pair of trousers, and I appear.”
Almost immediately, the door opened; and M. de Boiscoran presented himself, his hair dishevelled, his eyes heavy with sleep, but looking bright in his youth and full health, with smiling lips and open hands.
“Upon my word!” he said. “That was a happy inspiration you had, my dear Galpin. You come to join me at breakfast?”
And, bowing to M. Daubigeon, he added,—