“You will stay there till doomsday if it depends on my opening to you.  La Patrone never sent and I never promised.  I have only one small empty bed in my house, and in the other bed in the same room two of my boys are sleeping.  I am very sorry for the gentlemen.  My compliments to la Patrone, and before sending gentlemen to me at midnight, she ought to find out if I can accommodate them.  Good-night to you, and let us have no more rioting and bell-ringing.”

The nightcapped head was withdrawn, the lattice was sharply closed, and we were left to make the best of the situation.

It was serious:  nearly one in the morning, the whole town slumbering, and we “homeless, ragged, and tanned.”

To remain was useless.  Not all the ringing and rowing in the world would bring forth Madame again, though it might possibly produce her avenging spouse.  Andre shouldered his baggage and we began to retrace our steps.

“Back to the hotel,” commanded H.C.; “they must put us up somewhere.”

“Not a hole or corner unoccupied,” groaned Andre.  “You can’t sleep in the bread oven.  And they will all have gone to bed by the time we get back again.”

Suddenly he halted before a house at the corner of the marketplace.  It looked little better than a common cabaret, and was also closed and dark.  Down went the luggage, as he knocked mysteriously at the shutters.

“What are you doing?” we said.  “You don’t suppose that we would put up here even for an hour.”

“It is clean and respectable,” objected Andre.  “Messieurs cannot walk the streets till morning.”

A door was as mysteriously opened, leading into a room.  A couple of candles were burning at a table, round which some rough-looking men were seated, drinking and playing cards, but keeping silence.  It looked suspicious and uninviting.

“In fact we might be murdered here,” shuddered H.C.:  “most certainly we should be robbed.”

Andre made his request:  could they give us lodgment?

“Not so much as a chair or a bench,” answered the woman, to our relief; for though we should never have entered, Andre might have disappeared with the baggage and given us some trouble.  He evidently had all the obstinacy of the Breton about him, and was growing desperate.  The door was closed again without ceremony, and once more we were left to make the best of it.

This time we took the lead and made for the hotel.  Again we passed through the wonderful street with the overhanging eaves and gables.  Again we paused and lingered, lost in admiration.  But the light had departed from the latticed window, and no doubt in dreams the Fair One was beholding again the vision of H.C.

A few minutes more and we stood before the hotel.  They were just closing the doors.  Monsieur Hellard was crossing the passage at the moment.  Never shall I forget his consternation.  He raised his hands, and his hair stood on end.