He left the band and bounded up-stairs, where he put on an old hat and put his purse in his pocket. He also took up a large square box of the size of a portmanteau, which was concealed among his dirty linen. As he was running down-stairs again his portress hailed him.
"Monsieur de Courfeyrac!"
"Portress, what is your name?" Courfeyrac retorted.
She stood in stupefaction.
"Why, you know very well, sir, that my name is Mother Veuvain."
"Well, then, if ever you call me M. de Courfeyrac again I shall call you Mother de Veuvain. Now speak; what is it?"
"Some one wishes to speak to you."
"Who is it?"
"I don't know."
"Where is he?"