At the moment Bernardet came up, followed by the concierge, a coupé stopped at the door and a tall man got out, asking:
"Where is M. Morel? I wish to see M. Morel."
The Chief had not yet been advised, and he was not there. But the tall young man suddenly recognized Bernardet, and laid hold of him, pulling him after him through the half-open door, which Moniche hastened to shut against the crowd.
"We must call some officers," Bernardet said to the concierge, "or the crowd will push in."
Mme. Moniche was standing at the foot of the staircase, surrounded by the lodgers, men and women, to whom she was recounting, for the twentieth time, the story of how she had found M. Rovère with his throat cut.
"I was going in to read the paper—the story—it is very interesting, that story. The moment had come when the Baron had insulted the American colonel. M. Rovère said to me only yesterday, poor man: 'I am anxious to find out which one will be killed—the colonel or the baron.' He will never know! And it is he"——
"Mme. Moniche," interrupted Bernardet, "have you any one whom you can send for a Commissary?"
"Any one?"
"Yes," added Moniche. "M. Bernardet needs a magistrate. It is not difficult to understand."
"A Commissary?" repeated Mme. Moniche. "That is so. A Commissary; and what if I go for the Commissary myself, M. Bernardet?"