We went in.
Having entered, and the gate being shut behind us, we found ourselves in a little square courtyard which formed the centre of a sort of a two-storied ruin; the silence of a convent prevailed, not a light was to be seen at the windows; near a shed was seen a low entrance to a narrow, dark, and winding staircase.

"We have made some mistake," said Charamaule; "it is impossible that it can be here." Meanwhile the portress, hearing all these trampling steps beneath her doorway, had become wide awake, had lighted her lamp, and we could see her in her lodge, her face pressed against the window, gazing with alarm at sixty dark phantoms, motionless, and standing in her courtyard.
Esquiros addressed her: "Is this really M.Cournet's house ?" said he.
"M.

Cornet, without doubt," answered the good woman.
All was explained.

We had asked for Cournet, the grocer had understood Cornet, the portress had understood Cornet.

It chanced that M.Cornet lived there.
We shall see by and by what an extraordinary service chance had rendered us.
We went out, to the great relief of the poor portress, and we resumed our search.