"I came here, intending to go to the apartment of my intimate friend Freluchon, on the fourth floor, opposite Mademoiselle Crémailly, because my clothes are there and I expected to put them on. But Freluchon did not come home, which was very wrong on his part, as he has my clothes."
"Oh! it very often happens that he doesn't come home at night," murmured the young servant who came for the newspaper, smiling as she said it.
"You understand now, messieurs and mesdames, why I let everybody go up; Père Mignon did not tell me his orders, he didn't have time; besides, even if he had, I should probably have made mistakes, for I am beginning to realize that the trade of concierge demands strict attention as well as memory."
Chamoureau's explanation seemed plausible, but no one was willing to go away until the concierge came. His wife arrived first, however, and when she saw the gentleman in fancy costume in her room, she exclaimed:
"Mon Dieu! my husband has been changed! Who in the world is this Spaniard? What's happened to Mignon? I want my husband! He's never been to Spain!"
They strove to pacify the concierge's wife by repeating what Chamoureau had just told them, but she refused to credit the Spaniard's story and continued to cry:
"That ain't true, I say. Mignon wouldn't have left his post for this disguised man that nobody knows. He took Mignon's place; what's he done with him? If my husband don't return soon, I'll have this carnivalizer arrested!"
But the concierge's return put an end to his wife's shrieks and to the tenants' suspicions.
"Faith, monsieur," he said, going up to Chamoureau, "I had lots of trouble finding a cab for you; I went to at least four stands, and not a cab to be seen! I met an empty one at last, on Rue de Provence a minute ago, and brought it here. But if I'd known I should be away so long, I certainly wouldn't have done your errand for you!"
"Especially as your substitute does such nice things!" cried Madame Duponceau's maid.