I walked along the corridor, whistling the “Rappel d’Aunis,” and found the lieutenant on his eternal guard. The man never seemed to eat or sleep. He looked at me from under his bushy eyebrows as I came up, and asked, in his gruff brusque way:
“Where is Monsieur de Bresy?”
“He is busily engaged at present.”
“Engaged! Monsieur has done his rounds.”
“Probably he has business in connection with the letter you gave him, monsieur.” And then, to avoid further inquiry, I began questioning him myself.
“Can you tell me if the Prince is stirring?”
He glanced toward the door, which was closed on account of the chillness of the day, and shrugged his shoulders; but I went on, as if time was no object to me.
“Marcilly has not gone, has he? He said he might have to go early.”
“Oh! He is here still.”
“You are sure?”