The familiarity was not, perhaps, very much to the taste of the Marquis de Tregars.  No matter.

“She is rich, then, that lady?” he said.

“Personally no.  But she is protected by an old fool, who allows her all her fancies.”

“Indeed!”

“It is scandalous; and you cannot form an idea of the amount of money that is spent in that house.  Horses, carriages, servants, dresses, balls, dinners, card-playing all night, a perpetual carnival:  it must be ruinous!”

M. de Tregars never winced.

“And the old man who pays?” he asked; “do you know him?”

“I have seen him pass,—­a tall, lean, old fellow, who doesn’t look very rich, either.  But excuse me:  here is a customer I must wait upon.”

Having walked out into the street,

“We must separate now,” declared M. de Tregars to Maxence.

“What!  You wish to—­”

“Go and wait for me in that cafe yonder, at the corner of the street.  I must see that Zelie Cadelle and speak to her.”

And without suffering an objection on the part of Maxence, he walked resolutely up to the cottage-gate, and rang vigorously.

At the sound of the bell, one of those servants stepped out into the yard, who seem manufactured on purpose, heaven knows where, for the special service of young ladies who keep house,—­a tall rascal with sallow complexion and straight hair, a cynical eye, and a low, impudent smile.

“What do you wish, sir?” he inquired through the grating.

“That you should open the door, first,” uttered M. de Tregars, with such a look and such an accent, that the other obeyed at once.

“And now,” he added, “go and announce me to Mme. Zelie Cadelle.”

“Madame is out,” replied the valet.

And noticing that M. de Tregars shrugged his shoulders,

“Upon my word,” he said, “she has gone to the bois with one of her friends.  If you won’t believe me, ask my comrades there.”

And he pointed out two other servants of the same pattern as himself, who were silting at a table in the carriage-house, playing cards, and drinking.

But M. de Tregars did not mean to be imposed upon.  He felt certain that the man was lying.  Instead, therefore, of discussing,

“I want you to take me to your mistress,” he ordered, in a tone that admitted of no objection; “or else I’ll find my way to her alone.”

It was evident that he would do just as he said, by force if needs be.  The valet saw this, and, after hesitating a moment longer,

“Come along, then,” he said, “since you insist so much.  We’ll talk to the chambermaid.”

And, having led M. de Tregars into the vestibule, he called out, “Mam’selle Amanda!”

A woman at once made her appearance who was a worthy mate for the valet.  She must have been about forty, and the most alarming duplicity could be read upon her features, deeply pitted by the small-pox.  She wore a pretentious dress, an apron like a stage-servant, and a cap profusely decorated with flowers and ribbons.