He was interrupted by an elderly man wrapped in a Venetian mantle, who said to him: 

“You remember, M. Verduret,”—­this name was uttered half seriously, half banteringly—­“what you promised me?”

The clown bowed with great respect, but not the slightest shade of humility.

“I remember,” he replied.

“But do not be imprudent, I beg you.”

“M. the Count need not be uneasy; he has my promise.”

“Very good.  I know the value of it.”

The count walked off; but during this short colloquy the quadrille had ended, and M. de Clameran and Madeleine were lost to sight.

“I shall find them near Mme. Fauvel,” said the clown.

And he at once started in search of the banker’s wife.

Incommoded by the stifling heat of the room, Mme. Fauvel had sought a little fresh air in the grand picture-gallery, which, thanks to the talisman called gold, was now transformed into a fairy-like garden, filled with orange-trees, japonicas, laurel, and many rare exotics.

The clown saw her seated near a grove, not far from the door of the card-room.  Upon her right was Madeleine, and near her stood Raoul de Lagors, dressed in a costume of Henri III.

“I must confess,” muttered the clown from his post of observation, “that the young scamp is a very handsome man.”

Madeleine appeared very sad.  She had plucked a japonica from a tree near by, and was mechanically pulling it to pieces as she sat with her eyes downcast.

Raoul and Mme. Fauvel were engaged in earnest conversation.  Their faces were composed, but the gestures of one and the trembling of the other betrayed a serious discussion.

In the card-room sat the doge, M. de Clameran, so placed as to have full view of Mme. Fauvel and Madeleine, although himself concealed by an angle of the room.

“It is the continuation of yesterday’s scene,” thought the clown.  “If I could only get behind the oleander-tree, I might hear what they are saying.”

He pushed his way through the crowd, and, just as he had reached the desired spot, Madeleine arose, and, taking the arm of a bejewelled Persian, walked away.

At the same moment Raoul went into the card-room, and whispered a few words to De Clameran.

“There they go,” muttered the clown.  “The two scoundrels certainly hold these poor women in their power; and they are determined to make them suffer before releasing them.  What can be the secret of their power?”

His attention was attracted by a commotion in the picture-gallery; it was caused by the announcement of a wonderful minuet to be danced in the ball-room; the arrival of the Countess de Commarin as Aurora; and the presence of the Princess Korasoff, with her superb emeralds, which were reported to be the finest in the world.

In an instant the gallery became almost deserted.  Only a few forlorn-looking people remained; mostly sulky husbands, and some melancholy youths looking awkward and unhappy in their gay fancy dresses.