In a very short time he had served up an excellent breakfast for the filibuster, and then took his place behind his chair to wait on him.
"My friend," the filibuster said, carelessly, "I thank you; but when I take my meals I do not like to have anybody behind me. Leave the room, but remain in front of the house door;" and he added, with a singularly meaning glance, "let no one enter here without my orders: no one—you understand me?" he said, laying a stress on the words; "Not even your master, were he to come. Can I depend on you?"
"Yes, Montbarts," said the engagé, and left the room.
At the name of Montbarts, uttered by the servant, the stranger gave an almost imperceptible start, and fixed an anxious glance on the filibuster; but immediately recovering himself, he began eating again in the most perfect tranquillity, or at least apparently so.
For his part, Montbarts went on eating without troubling himself, or seeming to trouble himself, about the guest seated just opposite to him.
This performance went on for some minutes; no other sound was heard in the room, where such violent passions were smouldering, but that produced by the knives and forks scratching on the platters.
At length Montbarts raised his head and looked at the stranger.
"You are very taciturn, sir," he said to him, with the simple air of a man who is wearied at a lengthened silence, and wishes to get up a conversation.
"I, sir?" the stranger replied, as he looked up in his turn with the calmest air; "Not that I am aware of."
"Still, sir," the filibuster resumed, "I would remark, that during the quarter of an hour I have had the honour of passing in your company, you have not once addressed a syllable to me, not even in greeting."