Setting down his lamp in a sheltered corner, he proceeded to take down the massive bar that secured the door, cautiously opened the practicable leaf, and found himself face to face with a man, upon whom the light of the lamp shone sufficiently to show rather a grotesque figure, standing uncovered in the pelting rain.  His head was bald and shining, with a few locks of gray hair clustering about the temples.  A jolly red nose, bulbous in form, a small pair of twinkling, roguish eyes, looking out from under bushy, jet-black eyebrows, flabby cheeks, over which was spread a network of purplish fibres, full, sensual lips, and a scanty, straggling beard, that scarcely covered the short, round chin, made up a physiognomy worthy to serve as the model for a Silenus; for it was plainly that of a wine-bibber and bon vivant.  Yet a certain expression of good humour and kindness, almost of gentleness, redeemed what would otherwise have been a repulsive face.  The comical little wrinkles gathering about the eyes, and the merry upward turn of the comers of the mouth, showed a disposition to smile as he met the inquiring gaze of the young baron, but he only bowed repeatedly and profoundly, with exaggerated politeness and respect.

This extraordinary pantomime finished, with a grand flourish, the burlesque personage, still standing uncovered in the pouring rain, anticipated the question upon de Sigognac’s lips, and began at once the following address, in an emphatic and declamatory tone: 

“I pray you deign to excuse, noble seignior, my having come thus to knock at the gates of your castle in person at this untimely hour, without sending a page or a courier in advance, to announce my approach in a suitable manner.  Necessity knows no law, and forces the most polished personages to be guilty of gross breaches of etiquette at times.”

“What is it you want?” interrupted the baron, in rather a peremptory tone, annoyed by the absurd address of this strange old creature, whose sanity he began to doubt.

“Hospitality, most noble seignior; hospitality for myself and my comrades—­princes and princesses, heroes and beauties, men of letters and great captains, pretty waiting-maids and honest valets, who travel through the provinces from town to town in the chariot of Thespis, drawn by oxen, as in the ancient times.  This chariot is now hopelessly stuck in the mud only a stone’s throw from your castle, my noble lord.”

“If I understand aright what you say,” answered the baron, “you are a strolling band of players, and have lost your way.  Though my house is sadly dilapidated, and I cannot offer you more than mere shelter, you are heartily welcome to that, and will be better off within here than exposed to the fury of this wild storm.”

The pedant—­for such seemed to be his character in the troupe—­bowed his acknowledgments.