Having reached the sleeping room, he did not pass the door, but, stopping on the threshold, he respectfully bowed, and waited till his master might be pleased to address him.
"Enter, and close the door behind you," said the painter to him, in a friendly tone; "we have some important things to talk about."
"Secrets, master?" asked the Indian.
"Yes."
"Then, with your permission, master, I will leave the door open."
"What is that caprice for?"
"It is not a caprice, master; all these places are rendered noiseless by the mats which cover the ground; a spy can, without being heard, come and put his ear to the door and hear all that we may say, so much the more easily as we, absorbed in our own conversation, should not be aware of his presence; whereas, if all the doors remain open, no one will enter without our seeing him, and we shall not risk being watched."
"What you remark is very sensible, my good Tyro; leave the doors open, then. The precaution cannot do any harm, although I do not believe in spies."
"Does not the master believe in the night?" answered the Indian, with an emphatic gesture. "The spy is like the night; he likes to glide about in the darkness."
"Be it so; I will not discuss the matter with you. Let us come to the reason for which I have called you."