the chevalier to No. 72.
The girl obeyed, taking a candle, and going before D'Harmental, who
followed her. This time, no songs guided him in his ascent; all was
silent in the house; and as the chevalier himself was occupied with
grave thoughts, he mounted the six flights, and knocked at once at the
door.

"Enter," said Roquefinette.

The chevalier slipped a louis into the servant's hand, opened the door,
and went in.

The same change was observable in the interior as in the exterior.
Roquefinette was no longer, as on the first occasion, sitting among the
debris of a feast, surrounded by slaves, smoking his long pipe. He was
alone, in a little dark attic, lighted by a single candle, which, nearly
burned out, gave more smoke than flame, and whose flickering light gave
a strange expression to the harsh face of the brave captain, who was
standing leaning against the chimney-piece.

"Ah!" said Roquefinette in a slightly ironical tone, "it is you,
chevalier; I expected you."

"You expected me, captain! and what induced you to do so?"

"Events, chevalier; events."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you thought you could make open war, and consequently put
poor Captain Roquefinette aside, as a bandit, who is good for nothing
but a nocturnal blow at a street corner, or in a wood; and now Dubois
knows all; the parliament, on whom we thought we might count, have
failed us, and has said yes, instead of no. Now we come back to the
captain. My dear captain here! my good captain there! Is not this
exactly as it has happened, chevalier? Well, here is the captain, what
do you want of him? Speak."

"Really, my dear captain," said D'Harmental, not knowing exactly how to
take this speech, "there is some truth in what you say. Only you are
mistaken if you think we had forgotten you. If our plan had succeeded,
you would have had proof that my memory was better, and I should have
come to offer you my credit, as I now come to ask your assistance."

"Hum!" said the captain; "for the last three days, since I have
inhabited this new apartment, I have made many reflections on the vanity
of human things, and have more than once felt inclined to retire
altogether from these affairs, or--if I did undertake one--to take care
that it should be sufficiently brilliant to insure my future."

"What I come to propose to you is just the thing. Without preamble, it
is--"

"What?" asked the captain, after waiting two or three minutes in vain