This man carefully locked the door, and then advanced two steps into the street.  “They are waiting for you,” said the coachman; “I am to take you along with me to the coach.”

Preceding the man with the cloak, who only answered him by a nod, he led him to the coach-door, which he was about to open, and to let down the step, when the voice exclaimed from the inside:  “It is not necessary.  The gentleman may talk to me through the window.  I will call you when it is time to start.”

“Which means that I shall be kept here long enough to send you to all the devils!” murmured the driver.  “However, I may as well walk about, just to stretch my legs.”

So saying, he began to walk up and down, by the side of the wall in which was the little door.  Presently he heard the distant sound of wheels, which soon came nearer and nearer, and a carriage, rapidly ascending the slope, stopped on the other side of the little garden-door.

“Come, I say! a private carriage!” said the coachman.  “Good horses those, to come up the Rue Blanche at a trot.”

The coachman was just making this observation, when, by favor of a momentary gleam of light, he saw a man step from the carriage, advance rapidly to the little door, open it, and go in, closing it after him.

“It gets thicker and thicker!” said the coachman.  “One comes out, and the other goes in.”

So saying, he walked up to the carriage.  It was splendidly harnessed, and drawn by two handsome and vigorous horses.  The driver sat motionless, in his great box-coat, with the handle of his whip resting on his right knee.

“Here’s weather to drive about in, with such tidy dukes as yours, comrade!” said the humble hackney-coachman to this automaton, who remained mute and impassible, without even appearing to know that he was spoken to.

“He doesn’t understand French—­he’s an Englishman.  One could tell that by his horses,” said the coachman, putting this interpretation on the silence of his brother whip.  Then, perceiving a tall footman at a little distance, dressed in a long gray livery coat, with blue collar and silver buttons, the coachman addressed himself to him, by way of compensation, but without much varying his phrase:  “Here’s nice weather to stand about in, comrade!” On the part of the footman, he was met with the same imperturbable silence.

“They’re both Englishmen,” resumed the coachman, philosophically; and, though somewhat astonished at the incident of the little door, he recommenced his walk in the direction of his own vehicle.

While these facts were passing, the man in the cloak, and the man with the Italian accent continued their conversation, the one still in the coach, and the other leaning with his hand on the door.  It had already lasted for some time, and was carried on in Italian.  They were evidently talking of some absent person, as will appear from the following.

“So,” said the voice from the coach, “that is agreed to?”