“There, monsieur,” said Bonvallot, when he had finished, “I have made you as comfortable as I can. Your dinner will be served at five o’clock, your supper at nine, and should you feel cold a fire is permitted, also writing materials, should you need them—but for those you will have to pay.”
Rochefort turned from the window and contemplated his gaoler fully, and for the first time.
Bonvallot was a large man, with small eyes and a face that suggested good-humour. He would have made a capital innkeeper.
“Why, upon my word,” said Rochefort, who knew at once how to tackle his man, “you seem to me an admirable fellow. My own servant could not have done better, and when I come to leave here, you will not have cause to regret your efforts on my behalf. Your name?”
“Bonvallot, monsieur.”
“Well, Monsieur Bonvallot, here is a half louis to drink my health, and when my dinner is served, let me have a bottle of your best Beaune, and a fire, certainly, there is no companion like a fire, and as for writing materials, we will see about that to-morrow. Should there be any books in this old inn of yours, Monsieur Bonvallot, you may bring them to me. I am not a great reader, but who knows what one may become with so much time on one’s hands, as it is likely I may have here—Is your inn pretty full?”
“Fairly so, monsieur,” replied Bonvallot, falling into the vein of the other. “Though no guests have arrived for some days, still, those who are here remain a long time.”
“Ah! they could not pay any better compliment to the house. Am I alone on this corridor?”
“No, monsieur, in the room next to yours there is another guest. Ma foi! he is not difficult to feed either; he seems to live on pens, ink and paper.”
“He must suffer from indigestion, this guest of yours.”