The stranger was not listening. He went into the kitchen, lighted his pipe and placed it in his mouth; then he walked slowly from the inn and resumed his seat on the stone bench, where he smoked as placidly as a Mussulman seated luxuriously on soft cushions.
"That’s a devil of a fellow!" said the inn-keeper as he watched him walk away. "He smokes—I should say that he’s an old soldier. What the devil did he want of the Granvals? He ended by saying that he despised them!—Never mind; I did well to sit down with him; if he comes back, I’ll make him talk some more."
The stranger, having passed the whole morning on the stone bench, did in fact return to the inn about two o’clock. He ordered bread and cheese once more, but drank only water. The inn-keeper hovered about him and asked him several questions, trying to enter into conversation; but the stranger seemed indisposed to talk. He ate his bread and cheese without answering the questions, paid for his meagre repast, filled his pipe, lighted it, and left the inn; but this time he went down the street instead of returning to the stone bench.
"He’s a wretched customer!" said the inn-keeper when he had gone.
"And for all that," said the servant, "he puts on as many airs as a marquis! He gives his orders and talks as if he owned the place! He’d do well to shave, instead of stuffing himself with cheese!"
"Is he still sitting on the stone bench opposite, Marie?"
"No, monsieur, he went down the street."
"Then we probably shan’t see him again."
"Good riddance!"
The inn-keeper was mistaken; about eight in the evening he saw the poorly dressed stranger reënter the common room, with his knotted stick.