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 Tregars 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 doors, he began walking in front of M. de Tregars, 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 Tregars 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.