At the door he encountered the toothless smile of the old valet, who took the candle from the viscount's hands, ceremoniously escorted Canolles to his door, and hastened back to his master, who was waiting at the top of the stairs. "What is he doing?" the viscount asked in an undertone. "I think he has made up his mind to take supper alone," replied Pompée. "Then he won't come up again?" "I hope not, at least." "Order the horses, Pompée; it will be so much time gained. But what is that noise?" "I should say it was Monsieur Richon's voice." "And Monsieur de Canolles?" "They seem to be quarrelling." "On the contrary, they are greeting each other. Listen!" "If only Richon doesn't say anything." "Oh! there's no fear of that; he's very circumspect." "Hush!" As they ceased to speak, they heard Canolles' voice. "Two covers, Master Biscarros," he cried. "Two covers! Monsieur Richon sups with me." "By your leave, no," replied Richon; "it's impossible." "The deuce! so you too propose to sup alone, like the young gentleman upstairs?" "What gentleman?" "The one upstairs, I say." "What's his name?" "Vicomte de Cambes." "Oho! you know the viscount, do you?" "_Pardieu!_ he saved my life." "He?" "Yes, he." "How was that?" "Sup with me, and I'll tell you the whole story during supper." "I cannot; I am to sup with him." "Ah! yes; he is awaiting some one." "Myself; and as I am late, you will allow me to leave you, will you not, baron?" "_Sacrebleu!_ no, I will not allow it!" cried Canolles. "I have taken it into my head that I will sup in company, and you will sup with me or I with you. Master Biscarros, two covers!" But while Canolles turned his back to see if the order was executed, Richon darted rapidly up the staircase. When he reached the top stair a little hand met his and drew him into the viscount's room, the door of which immediately closed behind him, and was locked and bolted for greater security. "In very truth," muttered Canolles, looking about in vain for Richon, and seating himself at his solitary table, "in very truth, I don't know what the people of this cursed country have against me; some of them run after me to kill me, and others avoid me as if I had the plague. _Corbleu!_ my appetite is vanishing; I feel that I am growing melancholy, and I am capable of getting as drunk as a lansquenet to-night. Holé! Castorin, come here and be thrashed. Why, they are locking themselves in up there as if they were conspiring. Double calf that I am! of course they are conspiring; that's just it, and it explains everything. The next question is, in whose interest are they conspiring?--the coadjutor's? the princes'? the parliament's? the king's? the queen's? Monsieur de Mazarin's? 'Faith, they may conspire against any one they choose, it's all the same to me; and my appetite has returned. Castorin, order up my supper, and give me some wine; I forgive you."