"Mlle. Herminie," said the tallest lackey, with an evident respect for the person his master was about to visit.
"Yes, Mlle. Herminie," replied the other.
"The small door to the left, under the archway," said the portress, more and more amazed. "I'll open the doors at once."
"A prince and a duchess, visiting my pianist!" gasped M. Bouffard.
Soon came another knocking, much more gentle this time, and another footman in brown livery, with blue trimmings, came to complete the assemblage of lackeys, exclaiming:
"Is everybody stone-deaf here? The doors, why don't you open the doors, I say?"
M. Bouffard, desperate now, resolved to play a heroic part, so, while the portress was tidying herself up a little so as to usher in Herminie's aristocratic visitors, the ex-grocer rushed out to open the double doors of the porte-cochère. This menial task performed, he had barely time to draw back close to the wall to prevent himself from being crushed by the broad breasts of two superb gray horses attached to an elegant dark blue coupé that dashed in, and, skilfully guided by a tall coachman, stopped short at a sign from one of the footmen, who had stationed himself at Herminie's door.
A hunchback and a stout man, both dressed in black, alighted from this handsome equipage, and Madame Moufflon made haste to announce to M. Bouffard's pianist:
"M. le Prince Duc de Haut-Martel."
"M. Leroi, notary."