"No, no! Sacrebleu! it doesn't amount to the same thing! Don't you go making mistakes; no foolishness! Ah! mon Dieu! I hear a carriage stopping in front of the house; two gentlemen are getting out--they are the ones. Attention! I leave the door unlocked, so that they can open it themselves. I go into this little dark closet for a moment; I want them to think that I have more than this one room. Now: a serious face, heads up, and be cool!" Cherami disappeared. The two water-carriers stared at each other in speechless amazement to see themselves so finely arrayed. Soon there was a knock at the door; then, as no one answered, the door was opened, and Monsieur de la Beriniere's two seconds entered the room. One was a man of some fifty years, tall and thin, with a decidedly unamiable manner, a rigid bearing, and a severely simple costume. The other, who was at least fifteen years younger, with a pleasant face, and dressed in the height of fashion, had all the manners of a modern Don Juan. He entered the room first, and, having glanced about, exclaimed: "This isn't the place; it can't be; the woman directed us wrong." "But there are some people here," said the other; "we had better inquire.--Monsieur Cherami, if you please?" he continued, addressing the Auvergnat, who stood in the centre of the room. The water-carrier buried his chin in his cravat, and answered, without hesitation: "Very well; we agree." The old gentleman turned to his companion, who said: "He did not understand you."--Whereupon he, in his turn, addressed the Auvergnat: "We desire to know, monsieur, if this is where Monsieur Cherami lives." Again Michel replied in his deep voice: "Very well; we agree." At that, the young man burst out laughing. "Gad!" he exclaimed; "this is evidently a joke, a wager! What do you think about it, Monsieur de Maugrille?" "I think that we did not come here to joke, and if I knew that there was any purpose to make fools of us----" Cherami, who was listening, and saw that his seconds were in a fair way to wreck the whole business, hastily left the closet, and saluted the new-comers with much courtesy, saying: "Pardon, messieurs, a thousand pardons! I crave a little indulgence for my seconds,--most respectable persons, by the way,--one of whom, being a Pole, recently arrived in France, is not able as yet to express his thoughts in our language. As for the other, Monsieur de Saint-Michel, a wealthy land-holder in the outskirts of Clermont, in Auvergne--he is not yet at home in all the details of affairs of this sort. However, messieurs, as I have determined in advance to agree to what Monsieur de la Beriniere may suggest, it seems to me that your mission is very much simplified, and that the affair will settle itself; my seconds are here only as a matter of form." "Ordinarily, monsieur, the details of a meeting are not arranged with the adversary himself, but with his seconds."