"Aren't you coming down?"
"You say that you stuff mattresses? What a miserable voice! I wonder if the man has got a cold in his head!—Ah! there's Mirontaine barking again; I must go down.—Coming!—What a nuisance!"
The concierge went downstairs, and Chicotin, after examining Violette again, shook his head and said to himself:
"I don't know whether it's wise to trust to Madame Lamort's three kinds of tea; I don't know much about such things myself, but I see well enough that this poor girl has a devil of a fever. No matter what happens, I shall go down and fetch the old fellow from the floor below."
Chicotin went down to Roncherolle's room, and found him all ready to go out.
"Have you come again to see if you are to carry a bouquet to the baroness?" he asked with a smile; "I told you that that was all gone by; I shan't have any more bouquets to send to anybody."
"No, bourgeois, no, I ain't come for that, but because of your little neighbor upstairs, Mamzelle Violette."
"Well, how is she to-day?"
"Not well; she's as wild as a hawk; the concierge says that that's a good sign, but I don't agree with her; I came to ask you if you would have the kindness to go to see her, because you're better able than I am to judge of her condition."
"So you think that she will be willing to receive me to-day, do you?"