At that very moment, a traveller had arrived at the inn in a comfortable carriage. Everything about him denoted a man of wealth and of high rank. The innkeeper made haste to ask what he desired, and the traveller, who was a short, thin, old man, stern of face, inquired curtly what travellers had recently passed through the town, and, on receiving the landlord's reply, exclaimed:
"Shall I never learn what has become of them?"
"Will monsieur have supper?" inquired the innkeeper.
"No; I am not hungry. Let my horses be fed. I may go away again very soon. Give me a room where I can rest quietly for a few moments."
The traveller's tone did not invite conversation. The innkeeper at once took a light and escorted the new arrival to the stairs. As they were going up, they came face to face with Ménard, who was descending with majestic mien, declaiming:
"'La fortune à mes vœux cesse d'être opposée,
Madame, et dans mes bras met——'"
The little old man raised his eyes when he heard Ménard's voice; he gazed at him for some time in surprise, and exclaimed at last:
"Can it be possible that it is Monsieur Ménard whom I see in such a costume as this!"
Ménard looked at the traveller, and was transfixed with amazement when he recognized the Comte de Montreville, Frédéric's father, whose eyes gleamed with anger, and who, taking Thésée by the arm, marched him back abruptly to his room, planted himself in front of him, and began sternly to question him.
"What does all this mean, Monsieur Ménard? what is the meaning of that turban on your head, and this yellow costume that makes you look like an escaped lunatic?"