"When he came here, three months ago, he was as pompous as a lord, but in proportion as rent day approaches, he is becoming polite, distressingly polite to me."
"I shall have to watch the fellow closely, then, Madame Moufflon, that is a very bad sign. Ah, what a pity it is that that handsome young fellow who paid my pianist's rent didn't take to those rooms on the third floor. He wouldn't have—"
M. Bouffard never finished the sentence, for there came two or three such violent knocks at the porte-cochère that Madame Moufflon and her employer both bounded out of their chairs.
"Well, well, who is it that knocks as I, the owner of the house, would not think of knocking?" exclaimed M. Bouffard. "Let me see who this ill-mannered fellow is," added M. Bouffard, stepping to the door, as the portress pulled the rope.
"The doors, please!" cried a stentorian voice, thus announcing that both doors of the porte-cochère must be opened to admit a carriage.
M. Bouffard and the portress, amazed at this unheard-of demand, stood as if petrified on seeing a tall powdered footman, attired in a bright blue livery trimmed with silver braid, emerge from the shadow.
"Open both doors, quick!" said this liveried giant, authoritatively.
M. Bouffard was so overcome that he bowed low to the lackey.
"Will you never get the doors open? This is outrageous! The prince is waiting—"
"The prince!" gasped M. Bouffard, with another even more profound bow to the footman.