“You mustn’t think of it,” said M. Coupé. “The custom——”
“Why, I used to call that fellow Dufrêne, without the Mr., in civil life,” muttered Professor Proby. “And I contend that ... ha! the idea!”
“It’s a question of courtesy,” commented M. Briavoine. “Let’s go to the door. Give me my tunic.”
“Don’t you wish to keep on your overalls, my dear master?” said the young man with the sharp look.
“Of course. But I’m afraid of catching cold. Give me my képi as well; I can’t walk across the garden with nothing on my head.”
M. Briavoine turned towards me.
“My friend,” he said, “look for the registers, and be so good as to come along with me.”
Then he repeated, putting on his hat:
“There is no point in catching cold.”
A warm ray of sunlight entered by the open window! I thought M. Briavoine had no reason to fear colds, and I took the registers.