At a little distance the Marquis still seemed young, but a closer inspection showed that the man looked even older than he really was, so worn and haggard were his mouth and eyes.  Nights at the gaming-table and the anxiety as to where the fresh supplies should come from to furnish the means to prolong his life of debauchery had told heavily upon him.  To-day, however, he seemed to be in the best temper imaginable, and in the most cheerful manner he addressed a few words to Verminet, in conclusion of the conversation that had been going on in the inner office.

“It is settled then,” remarked he, “that I am to have nothing more to do with a business with which neither of us has any real concern?”

“Just so,” answered Verminet.

“Very well, then; but remember that any mistake you may make in the other affair will be attended with the most serious results.”

This caution seemed to suggest some new idea to Verminet, for he said something in a low voice to his client at which they both laughed.

Gaston was fidgeting about, very uneasy at the Marquis having paid no attention to him, and he now advanced with a magnificent salutation and a friendly wave of the hand.  If the Marquis was charmed at meeting Gandelu, he concealed his delight in a most wonderful manner.  He seemed surprised, but not agreeably so; he bent his head, and he extended his gloved hand with a negligent, “Ah, pleased to see you.”  Then without taking any more notice of Gaston, he turned on his heel and continued his conversation with Verminet.

“The worst part is over,” said he, “and therefore no time is to be lost.  You must see Mascarin and Martin Rigal, the banker, to-day.”

At these words Andre started.  Were these people Croisenois’ accomplices?  Certainly he had accomplices on the brain just now, and their names remained deeply engraved on the tablets of his memory.

“Tantaine was here this morning,” observed Verminet, “and told me that his master wanted to see me at four this afternoon.  Van Klopen will be there also.  Shall I say a word to him about your fine friend?”

“’Pon my soul,” remarked the Marquis, shrugging his shoulders, “I had nearly forgotten her.  There will be a tremendous fuss made, for she will be wanting all sorts of things.  Speak to Van Klopen certainly, but do not bind yourself.  Remember that I do not care a bit for the fair Sara.”

“Quite so; I understand,” answered Verminet; “but keep things quiet, and do not have any open disturbances.”

“Of course not.  Good morning,” and with a bow to the managing director and a nod to Gaston, he lunged out of the office, not condescending to take the slightest notice of Andre.  Verminet invited Andre and Gaston into his sanctum, and, taking a seat, motioned to them to do the same.  Verminet was a decided contrast to his office, which was shabby and dirty, for his dress did his tailor credit, and he appeared to be clean.  He was neither old nor young, and carried his years well.  He was fresh and plump, wore his whiskers and hair cut in the English fashion, while his sunken eyes had no more expression in them than those of a fish.