At last the bell rang and Edmond hastened to open his door. Another young man, very short and very slender, with a long, peaked face, a long, pointed nose, shrewd eyes, something of the marten in his face and much abandon in his bearing, entered the room, with his hands in his pockets, crying:
"Sapristi! how cold it is!"
The newcomer's name was Freluchon; he had inherited money from his mother and from his uncle, and his pockets were always full. He spent it freely, but he did not throw it out of the window; he devoted much time to pleasure, but he occasionally took a turn in business or speculated a little on the Bourse. He was generally very fortunate in what he undertook, and often succeeded in making more than he spent. He was three years older than Didier, whose intimate friend he was.
He was a good fellow, that is to say, he was always ready to do what anyone wanted him to do, so long as it was not a bore to him. Beneath a frail and sickly appearance, he was blessed with the strength of a Hercules, and could kill an ox with a blow of his fist. Men of that type as a general rule never seek a quarrel with anybody.
"Here you are at last!" cried Edmond as his friend entered. "It's very lucky. I was just going away. You're a full half-hour behindhand."
"First of all, have you a fire? On my word of honor, I am frozen!"
"Oh! we can warm ourselves at the young ladies' room, as they're waiting for us; it's not worth while to settle down here."
"But I say it is; the order of the day and the line of march are changed.—Ah! good! there is a fire; with a little blowing and another stick, it will go all right."
"What is there new? Why aren't we going to Henriette's, where Amélia was to join us? That was all arranged this morning."
"Yes, but since this morning, many things have happened.—Where in the devil do you keep your bellows?"