“Ventre de biche!” murmured Chicot, sitting down in the middle of his room, after he had removed the flagstone, and with the small piece of board by his side, and his treasure under his eyes, “ventre de biche! that excellent young man is a most invaluable neighbor, for he has made others respect my money, and has himself respected it too; in sober truth, such an action is wonderful in such times as the present.  Mordieux!  I owe some thanks to that excellent young fellow, and he shall have them this evening.”

Thereupon Chicot replaced the plank over the joist, the flagstone over the plank, approached the window, and looked toward the opposite side of the street.

The house still retained that gray and somber aspect which the imagination bestows as their natural color upon buildings whose character it seems to know.

“It cannot yet be their time for retiring to rest,” said Chicot; “and besides, those fellows, I am sure, are not very sound sleepers; so let us see.”

He descended his staircase, crossed the road—­forming, as he did so, his features into their most amiable and gracious expression—­and knocked at his neighbor’s door.

He remarked the creaking of the staircase, the sound of a hurried footstep, and yet he waited long enough to feel warranted in knocking again.

At this fresh summons the door opened, and the outline of a man appeared in the gloom.

“Thank you, and good-evening,” said Chicot, holding out his hand; “here I am back again, and I am come to return you my thanks, my dear neighbor.”

“I beg your pardon,” inquiringly observed a voice, in a tone of disappointment, the accent of which greatly surprised Chicot.

At the same moment the man who had opened the door drew back a step or two.

“Stay, I have made a mistake,” said Chicot, “you were not my neighbor when I left, and yet I know who you are.”

“And I know you too,” said the young man.

“You are Monsieur le Vicomte Ernanton de Carmainges.”

“And you are ‘The Shade.’”

“Really,” said Chicot, “I am quite bewildered.”

“Well, and what do you want, monsieur?” inquired the young man, somewhat churlishly.

“Excuse me, but I am interrupting you, perhaps, my dear monsieur?”

“No, only you will allow me to ask you what you may want.”

“Nothing, except that I wished to speak to the master of this house.”

“Speak, then.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am the master of the house, that is all.”

“You? since when, allow me to ask?”

“Diable! since the last three days.”

“Good! the house was for sale then?”

“So it would seem, since I have bought it.”

“But the former proprietor?”

“No longer lives here, as you see.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come, come, let us understand each other,” said Chicot.