“He is gone, my dear sir—gone quite an hour ago. He said to me, ‘Tell the knight I leave in your room on the ground-floor, that I am sorry I cannot stop to say good-bye, for the heat is coming on, and I don’t wish to delay my journey.’”
“Oh, so the drunken dog has gone—wonderful! I suppose he has paid?
“Not he, sir, truly. He told me you would see to that.”
Allegrignac not only opened his eyes at this, but he sat up on end. “At any rate, he paid his share?”
“He has not given me a penny piece; he told me he had won a wager of you.” Before Ali had finished the sentence Allegrignac was on his legs. “You’re no better than a brigand, and I’ll wring your neck for you!”
“I swear to you I have not received a farthing this blessed morning!”
“Well, well,” said the Count of Salençon, recovering his good humour, “I’m well enough off not to bother myself about a trifle like that. So you tell me my bed-fellow is really gone?”
“He is.”
“And the one who was here last night, too?”
“You saw him go yourself.”