"Then show me a room where I can eat and sleep, for I am tired out and hungry as a famished hawk."
"I grieve, monsieur; I am truly sorry," he replied, bowing in most marvellous fashion for one so stout, "but, unhappily, my poor house is full. In order to make room for my guests I myself have to sleep in the stable. But monsieur will find excellent accommodation higher up the street."
"Still, I intend staying here. The fact is, I have come on purpose to see an old friend, a gentleman in the train of the Duke of Orleans."
"Will monsieur give his name?"
"M. Raoul Beauchamp," I replied; "he comes here frequently."
At this the innkeeper became quite civil, and I heard no more of the advice to bestow my custom elsewhere.
"Well, mine host," I said slyly, "do you think it possible to find me a room now in this crowded house?"
The fellow bowed again, saying I was pleased to be merry, but that really in such stirring times one had to be careful, and that the good François, who had known everybody, was dead—killed, it was hinted, by a spy of Mazarin. But now that I had proved my right, as it were, the house was mine, and he, the speaker, the humblest of my servants.
"Then show me a room," I exclaimed, "and bring me something to eat and drink."
He lit a couple of candles, and walking farther along the passage threw open a door which led into a crowded room. The inmates stopped talking, and looked at me curiously. One, leaving his seat, came close to my side.