“I promised the father, I must not break my promise.”
Then he gave a push to the door of the house bearing the number 18, which stood ajar, discovered a gloomy-looking staircase, ascended three flights, perceived a door, then a second door, came upon the string of a bell, and pulled it. The ringing, which resounded in the apartment before which he stood, sent a shiver through his frame. The door was opened, and he found himself facing a young lady very well dressed, a brunette with a fresh complexion, who gazed at him with eyes of astonishment.
He did not know what to say to her, and she, who suspected nothing, and who was waiting for him to speak, did not invite him to come in. They stood looking thus at one another for nearly half a minute, at the end of which she said in a questioning tone:
“You have something to tell me, Monsieur?”
He falteringly replied:
“I am M. Hautot's son.”
She gave a start, turned pale, and stammered out as if she had known him for a long time:
“Monsieur César?”
“Yes.”
“And what next?”