Without waiting for a question, "The baron has not yet come home -," he said. "But he cannot be much longer away; and certainly the baroness is at home for my lord-marquis. Please, then, give yourself the trouble to pass."
And, standing aside, he struck upon the enormous gong that stood near his lodge a single sharp blow, intended to wake up the footman on duty in the vestibule, and to announce a visitor of note. Slowly, but not without quietly observing every thing, M. de Traggers crossed the courtyard, covered with fine sand, - they would have powdered it with golden dust, if they had dared, - and surrounded on all sides with bronze baskets, in which beautiful rhododendrons were blossoming.
It was nearly six o'clock. The manager of the Mutual Credit dined at seven; and the preparations for this important event were everywhere apparent. Through the large windows of the dining-room the steward could be seen presiding over the setting of the table.
The butler was coming up from the cellar, loaded with bottles.
Finally, through the apertures of the basement arose the appetizing perfumes of the kitchen.
What enormous business it required to support such a style, to display this luxury, which would shame one of those German princelings, who exchanged the crown of their ancestors for a Prussian livery gilded with French gold! - other people's money.
Meantime, the blow struck by the porter on the gong had produced the desired effect; and the gates of the vestibule seemed to open of their own accord before M. de Tregars as he ascended the stoop.
This vestibule with the splendor of which Mlle. Lucienne had been so deeply impressed, would, indeed, have been worthy the attention of an artist, had it been allowed to retain the simple grandeur and the severe harmony which M. Parcimieux's architect had imparted to it.
But M. de Thaller, as he was proud of boasting, had a perfect horror of simplicity; and, wherever he discovered a vacant space as big as his hand, he hung a picture, a bronze, or a piece of china, any thing and anyhow.
The two footmen were standing when M. de Tregars came in. Without asking any question, "Will M. le Marquis please follow me?" said the youngest.
And, opening the broad glass doors1 he began walking in front of M. de Traggers, along a staircase with marble railing, the elegant proportions of which were absolutely ruined by a ridiculous profusion of "objects of art" of all nature, and from all sources.
This staircase led to a vast semicircular landing, upon which, between columns of precious marble, opened three wide doors. The footman opened the middle one, which led to M. de Thaller's picture-gallery, a celebrated one in the financial world, and which had acquired for him the reputation of an enlightened amateur.
But M. de Traggers had no time to examine this gallery, which, moreover, he already knew well enough. The footman showed him into the small drawing-room of the baroness, a bijou of a room, furnished in gilt and crimson satin.
"Will M. le Marquis be kind enough to take a seat?" he said. "I run to notify Mme. le Baronne of M. le Marquis's visit."
The footman uttered these titles of nobility with a singular pomp, and as if some of their lustre was reflected upon himself.
Nevertheless, it was evident that "Marquis" jingled to his ear much more pleasantly than "Baronne."
Remaining alone, M. de Tregars threw himself upon a seat. Worn out by the emotions of the day, and by an extraordinary contention of mind, he felt thankful for this moment of respite, which permitted him, at the moment of a decisive step, to collect all his energy and all his presence of mind.
And after two minutes he was so deeply absorbed in his thoughts, that he started, like a man suddenly aroused from his sleep, at the sound of an opening door. At the same moment he heard a slight exclamation of surprise, "Ah!
Instead of the Baroness de Thaller, it was her daughter, Mlle.
Cesarine, who had come in.
Stepping forward to the centre of the room, and acknowledging by a familiar gesture M. de Traggers' most respectful bow, "You should warn people," she said. "I came here to look for my mother, and it is you I find. Why, you scared me to death. What a crack! Princess dear!"
And taking the young man's hand, and pressing it to her breast, "Feel," she added, "how my heart beats."
Younger than Mlle. Gilberte, Mlle. Cesarine de Thaller had a reputation for beauty so thoroughly established, that to call it in question would have seemed a crime to her numerous admirers.
And really she was a handsome person. Rather tall and well made, she had broad hips, the waist round and supple as a steel rod, and a magnificent throat. Her neck was, perhaps, a little too thick and too short; but upon her robust shoulders was scattered in wild ringlets the rebellious hair that escaped from her comb.
She was a blonde, but of that reddish blonde, almost as dark as mahogany, which Titian admired, and which the handsome Venetians obtained by means of rather repulsive practices, and by exposing themselves to the noonday sun on the terraces of their palaces.
Her complexion had the gilded hues of amber. Her lips, red as blood, displayed as they opened, teeth of dazzling whiteness. In her large prominent eyes, of a milky blue, like the Northern skies, laughed the eternal irony of a soul that no longer has faith in any thing. More anxious of her fame than of good taste, she wore a dress of doubtful shade, puffed up by means of an extravagant pannier, and buttoned obliquely across the chest, according to that ridiculous and ungraceful style invented by flat or humped women.
Throwing herself upon a chair, and placing cavalierly one foot upon another, so as to display her leg, which was admirable, "Do you know that it's perfectly stunning to see you here?" she said to M. de Traggers. "Just imagine, for a moment, what a face the Baron Three Francs Sixty-eight will make when he sees you!"
