One, I think, did suspect me. Clon, the porter, continued to
hold the door obstinately ajar and to eye me with grinning spite,
until his mistress, with some sharpness, bade him drop the bars
and conduct me to a room.

'Do you go also, Louis,' she continued, speaking to the man
beside her, 'and see this gentleman comfortably disposed. I am
sorry,' she added, addressing me in the graceful tone she had
before used, and I thought that I could see her head bend in the
darkness, 'that our present circumstances do not permit us to
welcome you more fitly, Monsieur. But the troubles of the times
--however, you will excuse what is lacking. Until to-morrow, I
have the honour to bid you good-night.'

'Good-night, Madame,' I stammered, trembling. I had not been
able to distinguish her face in the gloom of the doorway, but her
voice, her greeting, her presence unmanned me. I was troubled
and perplexed; I had not spirit to kick a dog. I followed the
two servants from the hall without heeding how we went; nor was
it until we came to a full stop at a door in a white-washed
corridor, and it was forced upon me that something was in
question between my two conductors that I began to take notice.

Then I saw that one of them, Louis, wished to lodge me here where
we stood. The porter, on the other hand, who held the keys,
would not. He did not speak a word, nor did the other--and this
gave a queer ominous character to the debate; but he continued to
jerk his head towards the farther end of the corridor; and, at
last, he carried his point. Louis shrugged his shoulders, and