"They don't know me," said the General, accosting Varbarriere, who was only half a dozen steps removed, and whom he had rejoined. "You must come to the door, they say, and tell them it's all right."
Perhaps with some inward sense of the comic, Varbarriere presented himself at the door, when, his voice being recognised, and he himself reconnoitred through the keyhole and reported upon, the maid presented herself in an extemporised drapery of cloaks and shawls, like a traveller in winter, and holding these garments together with one hand, with the other presented the key, peering anxiously in the General's face.
"Key, sir, please."
"I thank you," said the General, with a nod, to which she responded with such a courtesy as her costume permitted. The door shut, and as the gentlemen withdrew they heard the voices of the inmates again busy with the subject.
"Good-night," whispered Varbarriere, looking in the General's blue eye with his own full and steady gaze.
"I know you'll remember your promise," said he.
"Yes—what?"
"No violence" replied Varbarriere.
"No, of course, I said so. Good-bye."
"You must appear—your manner, mind—just as usual. Nothing to alarm—you may defeat all else."