“What do you say to all this, gentlemen? You are the only ones who have not given your views. And yet you must have an opinion of some sort.”
Thereupon, Raoul and the Persian saw the startled faces of the joint managers appear above the landing—and they heard Moncharmin’s excited voice:
“There are things happening here, Mr. Commissary, which we are unable to explain.”
And the two faces disappeared.
“Thank you for the information, gentlemen,” said Mifroid, with a jeer.
But the stage-manager, holding his chin in the hollow of his right hand, which is the attitude of profound thought, said:
“It is not the first time that Mauclair has fallen asleep in the theater. I remember finding him, one evening, snoring in his little recess, with his snuffbox beside him.”
“Is that long ago?” asked M. Mifroid, carefully wiping his eyeglasses.
“No, not so very long ago. … Wait a bit! … It was the night … of course, yes … It was the night when Carlotta—you know, Mr. Commissary—gave her famous ‘ co-ack ’!”
“Really? The night when Carlotta gave her famous ‘ co-ack ’?”
And M. Mifroid, replacing his gleaming glasses on his nose, fixed the stage-manager with a contemplative stare.
“So Mauclair takes snuff, does he?” he asked carelessly.
“Yes, Mr. Commissary. … Look, there is his snuffbox on that little shelf. … Oh, he’s a great snuff-taker!”