“Of course he does not; he is most liberal to her, and if he inquired—­”

“Then we are all right; we will send in the bill to him.”

“But, my good sir,” urged Van Klopen, “it was only last week that she paid us a heavy sum on account.”

“The more reason to press her, for she must be hard up.”

Van Klopen would have argued further, but an imperious sign from Mascarin reduced him to silence.

“Listen to me,” said Mascarin, “and please do not interrupt me.  Are you known to the domestics at the house of the Viscountess?”

“Not at all.”

“Well, then, at three o’clock sharp, the day after to-morrow, call on her.  Her footman will say that Madame has a visitor with her.”

“I will say I will wait.”

“Not at all.  You must almost force your way in, and you will find the Viscountess talking to the Marquis de Croisenois.  You know him, I suppose?”

“By sight—­nothing more.”

“That is sufficient.  Take no notice of him; but at once present your bill, and violently insist upon immediate payment.”

“What can you be thinking of?  She will have me kicked out of doors.”

“Quite likely; but you must threaten to take the bill to her husband.  She will command you to leave the house, but you will sit down doggedly and declare that you will not move until you get the money.”

“But that is most unbusinesslike behavior.”

“I quite agree with you; but the Marquis de Croisenois will interfere; he will throw a pocketbook in your face, exclaiming, ’There is your money, you impudent scoundrel!’”

“Then I am to slink away?”

“Yes, but before doing so, you will give a receipt in this form—­’Received from the Marquis de Croisenois, the sum of so many francs, in settlement of the account of the Viscountess Bois Arden.’”

“If I could only understand the game,” muttered the puzzled Van Klopen.

“There is no necessity for that now; only act up to your instructions.”

“I will obey, but remember that we shall not only lose her custom, but that of all her acquaintance.”

Again the same angry sounds were heard in the corridor.

“It is scandalous,” cried a voice.  “I have been waiting an hour; my sword and armor.  What, ho, lackeys; hither, I say.  Van Klopen is engaged, is he?  Hie to him and say I must see him at once.”

The two accomplices exchanged looks, as though they recognized the shrill, squeaky voice.

“That is our man,” whispered Mascarin, as the door was violently flung open, and Gaston de Gandelu burst in.  He was dressed even more extravagantly than usual, and his face was inflamed with rage.

“Here am I,” cried he; “and an awful rage I am in.  Why, I have been waiting twenty minutes.  I don’t care a curse for your rules and regulations.”

The tailor was furious at this intrusion; but as Mascarin was present, and he felt that he must respect his orders, he by a great effort controlled himself.