"There's a little resemblance."
"Much."
Barabant, who continued to study the figure, exclaimed:
"Really, the resemblance is striking!"
At this moment the man, turning, disclosed indeed the familiar features, while the well-known voice cried:
"Mordieu! It is Nicole and my little orator Barabant! Well, what's the matter? Touch hands!"
For Nicole, with a movement of superstition, had crossed herself, while Barabant, stock-still, remained staring stupidly at the apparition, until he was able to blurt out:
"What, it is you! Then you're not dead."
"Not even once!" he cried, slapping his hand emphatically across his chest. "I give you my word, it is not true! Come, feel of me. Is this the arm or the chest of a specter?"
"Still, I saw you," exclaimed Nicole, unable to reconcile the fact to her memory—"I saw you at the gate of the Abbaye—"