"And you told me that no one had called!"
"He's not a caller. I heard you say once: 'If that person comes here again, and I have company, call me at once; don't let him in.'"
I trembled as I began to realize who the visitor was.
"Can it be——" I faltered.
"Yes, monsieur; it's the party named Ballangier—the one who's so free and easy like, and makes himself so much at home here, just as if he was in his own house."
I felt as if a heavy weight had settled down on my chest. In an instant all my cheerful thoughts had vanished. A feeling of depression replaced them. The presence—the very name—of Ballangier always produced that effect on me.
"Has this—gentleman been here long?"
"About three-quarters of an hour, monsieur, when you rang."
"Didn't you tell him that I had been at a ball, and that I was likely to sleep very late?"
"Yes, monsieur, I said all that. But he just sat down and said: 'That's all the same to me; I've got plenty of time.' And then, he took out a pipe and lighted it. It was no use for me to say: 'You mustn't smoke here; my master don't like the smell.'—He sings out: 'I smoke everywhere! and you can open the windows and burn some castonnade.'"