“What’s the matter?”
“There’s a young man below, who calls himself Olivier. He asks for M. Morok.”
“That’s right. Let him came up.” The host went out.
“It is one of our men, but he is alone,” said Morok, whose savage countenance expressed disappointment. “It astonishes me, for I expected a good number. Do you know him?”
“Olivier? Yes—a fair chap, I think.”
“We shall see him directly. Here he is.” A young man, with an open, bold, intelligent countenance, at this moment entered the room.
“What! old Sleepinbuff!” he exclaimed, at sight of Morok’s companion.
“Myself. I have not seen you for an age, Olivier.”
“Simple enough, my boy. We do not work at the same place.”
“But you are alone!” cried Morok; and pointing to Sleepinbuff, he added: “You may speak before him—he is one of us. But why are you alone?”