"That is my duty, by jingo," responded the chevalier, while Touquet reclosed the garden gate, after having said to the two men who were near the coach,—
"Wait for me."
They followed along a tiled passageway which led to the house. The garden was gloomy. The servant who carried the lantern walked in front, and Chaudoreille, who found himself the last, glanced from time to time anxiously from right to left; he wished to open the conversation, and had already exclaimed, "This garden appears to be very large," when the barber turned and ordered him to keep silent. To indemnify himself for this forced silence, Chaudoreille, who was still holding Rolande naked in his hand, struck every tree that he met.
They arrived at the house and entered a vestibule, at the end of which was a staircase, while to the right and the left doors led to the apartments on the ground floor.
Julia, who had followed her conductors without speaking, appeared to examine attentively everything that presented itself to her. Chaudoreille, finding himself near the man with the lantern, uttered a cry of surprise, saying,—
"Why, what the deuce! I can't be mistaken. It is Marcel, one of my old friends. Don't you know me? I am Chaudoreille; we spent six months in prison together, but it was for a mere trifle. I left it as white as snow."
"Be silent, idiots," cried the barber; "you can make your greetings a little later. Where is madame's apartment?"
"On the first floor," answered Marcel, putting his hand in Chaudoreille's, who shook it as if he had found his best friend.
"Lead us," said Touquet, "and you remain here."
The latter part of this order was addressed to the chevalier and it did not afford him much pleasure; but he was forced to obey. However, when Chaudoreille perceived that there was no light in the vestibule where they left him, and where he found himself in the most complete obscurity, he ascended several steps of the stairs, crying in a quivering voice,—