"Why, that's Monsieur Malek-Al-Chiras, castanet teacher. What can he have done with his Arabian steed?"
The fugitive entered the first door that he found open, which was one in the house of an old dowager. Chaudoreille mounted the staircase; arrived at the first floor he perceived a key in a door, he entered precipitantly, carefully taking the key with him and locking it after him. At the same instant, a voice cried,—
"Monsieur, what are you doing here? Nobody can come in, I am not visible."
It was the dowager, who was dressing at the moment when the chevalier, entered her chamber, desperate. Chaudoreille did not answer, he heard nothing but Urbain's steps.
"Monsieur, I am making my toilet."
"Make anything you please," said he at last, "I shall scarcely worry myself about it."
"Leave this room, monsieur."
"Me, leave the room? By jingo! I'll take very good care not to do that. Do you wish me to go to my death? I'm pursued by a man who absolutely wishes to fight with me."
"Well, then, fight. Can't you defend yourself?"
"I can only defend myself when I am not attacked."