While I was talking with Pomponne, I noticed an odor that was not customary in my apartments.
"Pomponne," I said abruptly, "have you been smoking this morning?"
"Smoking, monsieur? You know I never smoke."
"But it smells of tobacco here; not of cigars, but of a pipe, and vile tobacco too."
My servant smiled with an expression which he tried to render cunning, and said in an undertone, leaning over me:
"I know who it is; it's the other one."
"What other one?"
"The man who's waiting out there, in the reception room."
"What! there's someone waiting for me, and you didn't tell me?"
"Oh! he—he said he wasn't in any hurry."