Cherami disappeared. The two water-carriers stared at each other in speechless amazement to see themselves so finely arrayed. Soon there was a knock at the door; then, as no one answered, the door was opened, and Monsieur de la Bérinière's two seconds entered the room.
One was a man of some fifty years, tall and thin, with a decidedly unamiable manner, a rigid bearing, and a severely simple costume. The other, who was at least fifteen years younger, with a pleasant face, and dressed in the height of fashion, had all the manners of a modern Don Juan. He entered the room first, and, having glanced about, exclaimed:
"This isn't the place; it can't be; the woman directed us wrong."
"But there are some people here," said the other; "we had better inquire.—Monsieur Cherami, if you please?" he continued, addressing the Auvergnat, who stood in the centre of the room.
The water-carrier buried his chin in his cravat, and answered, without hesitation:
The old gentleman turned to his companion, who said:
"He did not understand you."—Whereupon he, in his turn, addressed the Auvergnat: "We desire to know, monsieur, if this is where Monsieur Cherami lives."
Again Michel replied in his deep voice:
"Very well; we agree."