After this, as it was late, the comedians bade each other good-night, and retired to their respective rooms; excepting de Sigognac, who remained for a while in the court, walking slowly back and forth, cogitating deeply.  The actor was avenged, but the gentleman was not.  Must he then throw aside the mask that concealed his identity, proclaim his real name, make a commotion, and run the risk of drawing down upon his comrades the anger of a powerful nobleman?  Prudence said no, but honour said yes.  The baron could not resist its imperious voice, and the moment that he decided to obey it he directed his steps towards Zerbine’s room.

He knocked gently at the door, which was opened cautiously, a very little way at first, by a servant, who instantly admitted the unexpected guest when he saw who it was.

The large room was brilliantly lighted, with many rose-coloured wax candles in two handsome candelabra on a table covered with fine damask, on which smoked a dainty supper.  Game and various other delicacies were there, most temptingly served.  One crystal decanter, with sprigs of gold scattered over its shining surface, was filled with wine rivalling the ruby in depth and brilliancy of hue, while that in the other was clear and yellow as a topaz.  Only two places had been laid on this festive board, and opposite Zerbine sat the Marquis de Bruyeres, of whom de Sigognac was in search.  The soubrette welcomed him warmly, with a graceful mingling of the actress’s familiarity with her comrade with her respect for the gentleman.

“It is very charming of you to come and join us here, in our cosy little nest,” said the marquis to de Sigognac, with much cordiality, “and we are right glad to welcome you.  Jacques, lay a place for this gentleman—­you will sup with us?”

“I will accept your kind invitation,” de Sigognac replied; “but not for the sake of the supper.  I do not wish to interfere with your enjoyment, and nothing is so disagreeable for those at table as a looker-on who is not eating with them.”

The baron accordingly sat down in the arm-chair rolled up for him by the servant, beside Zerbine and opposite the marquis, who helped him to some of the partridge he had been carving, and filled his wine-glass for him; all without asking any questions as to what brought him there, or even hinting at it.  But he felt sure that it must be something of importance that had caused the usually reserved and retiring young nobleman to take such a step as this.

“Do you like this red wine best or the other?” asked the marquis.  “As for me, I drink some of both, so that there may be no jealous feeling between them.”