She turned round, made the half-circuit of the house, and entered the breakfast-room where the three gentlemen were still in debate.

“A gentleman, to see the house, with a view to purchase, eh?” said Clemenceau.  “Very well, I will go into the drawing-room and speak with him.  Is your mistress having a nap?”

“No, monsieur.”

“Then, be so good as to tell her that somebody has come about the house, and as such inquirers are sure to be supplied by their wives with formidable lists of questions about domestic details, I should be obliged by her coming down to send the person away satisfied.”

He followed Hedwig on the way up through the house as far as the drawing-room door, where his path branched off.  Entering, he threw open the double window-sashes and politely asked the gentleman to make use of this direct road, with an apology for suggesting it.  But he had seen at a glance that this kind of happy-go-lucky tourist was not of the ceremonious strain.

“It is you, monsieur,” began the latter, taking the seat pointed out to him and immediately swinging one leg, mounted on the other knee, with the utmost nonchalance, “it is you who are the proprietor of this pretty place?”

“Yes; my name is Clemenceau, at your service.”

“Then, monsieur, I am—­where the plague have I put my card-case—­I am Guillaume Cantagnac, lately in business as a notary, but for the present, at the head of an enterprise for the purchase of landed estates, and their development by high culture for the ground and superior structures instead of their antiquated houses.  I read in the Moniteur des Ventes, and on the placard at your gates, that you are willing to dispose of this residence and the land appertaining thereunto.  I am not on business this morning, but taking a little pleasure-trip—­no, not pleasure-trip—­God forbid I should find any pleasure now!  I mean a little tour for distraction after a great sorrow that has befallen me.”

The stout man, though he could have felled a bull with a blow of his leg-of-mutton fist, seemed about to break down in tears.  But, burying his empurpled nose in a large red handkerchief, he passed off his emotion in a potent blast which made the ornaments on the mantel-shelf quake, and resumed in an unsteady voice: 

“I would have made a note and deferred to another day seeing the property you offer and learning its area, value, situation, advantages and defects—­for there is always some flaw in a terrestrial paradise, ha, ha!  But your hospitable gate was on the latch—­such an inviting expression was on the face of a rather pretty servant girl on your porch—­faith!  I could not resist the temptation to make the acquaintance of the happy owner of this Eden! and lo!  I am rewarded by the power to go home to Marseilles and tell my companion domino-players in the Cafe Dame de la Garde that I saw the renowned constructor of the new cannon—­M.  Felix Clemenceau, with whom the Emperor has spoken about the defense of our beloved country!”