“Of course the chance occurs, and then I foreclose, seize,—Rochebriant and its seigneuries are mine.”
As he spoke he laughed, not sardonically,—a jovial laugh,—and opened wide, to reshut as in a vice, the strong iron hand which had doubtless closed over many a man’s all.
“Thanks. On Friday, seven o’clock.” He tossed the papers back on the bureau, nodded a royal nod, and strode forth imperiously as he had strode in.
CHAPTER III.
MEANWHILE the young Marquis pursued his way thoughtfully through the streets, and entered the Champs Elysees. Since we first, nay, since we last saw him, he is strikingly improved in outward appearances. He has unconsciously acquired more of the easy grace of the Parisian in gait and bearing. You would no longer detect the Provincial—perhaps, however, because he is now dressed, though very simply, in habiliments that belong to the style of the day. Rarely among the loungers in the Champs Elysees could be seen a finer form, a comelier face, an air of more unmistakable distinction.
The eyes of many a passing fair one gazed on him, admiringly or coquettishly. But he was still so little the true Parisian that they got no smile, no look in return. He was wrapped in his own thoughts; was he thinking of M. Louvier?
He had nearly gained the entrance of the Bois de Boulogne, when he was accosted by a voice behind, and turning round saw his friend Lemercier arm-in-arm with Graham Vane.
“Bonjour, Alain,” said Lemercier, hooking his disengaged arm into Rochebriant’s. “I suspect we are going the same way.”
Alain felt himself change countenance at this conjecture, and replied coldly, “I think not; I have got to the end of my walk, and shall turn back to Paris;” addressing himself to the Englishman, he said with formal politeness, “I regret not to have found you at home when I called some weeks ago, and no less so to have been out when you had the complaisance to return my visit.”