The travellers resumed their journey, and at nightfall arrived at Voreppe, a small town about two leagues from Grenoble. Dubourg inquired for the best inn, and went thither with his companion. They entered the common-room, Dubourg with his head in the air and a determined bearing, Ménard with downcast eyes and a very modest mien. Several guests were talking together in the room, awaiting the supper hour. "Will the gentlemen eat at the table d'hôte?" the servant inquired. "Yes, of course," replied Dubourg; "we like company--don't we, my friend?" "Yes, monsieur le ba--yes, my friend," said Ménard, being reminded by a blow from his friend's elbow that there was to be no more mention of barons. Dubourg listened to what the other guests were saying, but the conversation was far from interesting; the tradesmen discussed business, the townspeople talked gossip, and Dubourg failed to discover any Chambertin to dazzle. He paced the floor of the common-room, jingling the few copper coins which he still had in his pocket, and halting now and then in front of Ménard to offer him a pinch of snuff; and Ménard, for all his depression, looked with unabated respect on the snuff-box which was held out to him. Suddenly a little man of some fifty years of age, in a cinnamon-colored coat, green breeches, cavalry boots, and a cap with a visor that might at need serve as an umbrella, entered the room, with the air of one full of business, and said in a very loud tone: "They won't come! they can't come! and my performance has fallen through. I am desperate! my mind is going!" The little man threw himself into a chair, and was instantly surrounded by all the gossips and guests of the inn. "What is it, Monsieur Floridor?" queried the hostess; "have your actors gone back on you?" "Yes, the most necessary and most important ones of the lot: the _jeune premier_, and the noble father, two talented actors, who would have completed my troupe. The _jeune premier_ was to come from Cambrai, where he has played such parts as Colin and Elleviou for twenty years; he is a man of the most charming, consummate talent. I saw him a month ago, in _Sargine, or Love's Pupil_, for he has been playing the _ingénus_ and young lovers for some years. Ah! how delighted I was! an affecting voice, and a superb figure! a little taller than I am. And in tragic parts--such fire! such spirit! I wept when I saw him do _Tartufe_. As for the noble father, he is a most invaluable actor. For thirty years he has been the delight of Beaugency, and I saw him act at Doyen's, in Paris, with marvellous success. He takes all sorts of parts--kings, fathers, tyrants, Cassandras--he can handle anything. He made a specialty of the _noble fathers'_ rôles only because he lost his teeth, which does not prevent his displaying plenty of _bite_ in his diction." "And why ain't they coming?"