“His Lordship, Count Fenix!”
Sartines uttered an outcry, and clasped his hands above his wig at risk of demolishing that wonderful structure. He hastened to dismiss the writer by a side door, while, taking his place at his desk, he bade the usher show in the visitor.
In his mirror, a few seconds after, Sartines saw the stern profile of the count as he had seen him on the day when Lady Dubarry was presented at court.
Balsamo-Fenix entered without any hesitation whatever.
Sartines rose, made a cold bow, and sat himself ceremoniously down again, crossing his legs.
At the first glance he had seen what was the object of this interview. At a glance also Balsamo had seen the opened casket on the desk. His glance, however fleeting, had not escaped the magistrate.
“To what chance do I owe this visit, my lord?” inquired the Chief of Police.
“My Lord,” returned Balsamo with a smile full of amenity, “I have found introducers to all the sovereigns of Europe, all their ministers and ambassadors: but none to present me to your lordship; so I have presented myself.”
“You arrive most timely, my lord,” replied Sartines: “For I am inclined to think that if you had not called I should have had to send for you.”
“Indeed—how nicely this chimes in.”