“I wonder,” quoth Graham, “whether, with all his cleverness, the Prince has in any way decided what he means to do or to be.”
“The Prince!” said Rochebriant, rousing himself from revery; “what Prince?”
“Do you not recognize him by his wonderful likeness to the first Napoleon,—him on horseback talking to Louvier, the great financier.”
“Is that stout bourgeois in the carriage Louvier,—my mortgagee, Louvier?”
“Your mortgagee, my dear Marquis? Well, he is rich enough to be a very lenient one upon pay-day.”
“Hein!—I doubt his leniency,” said Alain. “I have promised my avoue to meet him at dinner. Do you think I did wrong?”
“Wrong! of course not; he is likely to overwhelm you with civilities. Pray don’t refuse if he gives you an invitation to his soiree next Saturday; I am going to it. One meets there the notabilities most interesting to study,—artists, authors, politicians, especially those who call themselves Republicans. He and the Prince agree in one thing; namely, the cordial reception they give to the men who would destroy the state of things upon which Prince and financier both thrive. Hillo! here comes Lemercier on return from the Bois.”
Lemercier’s coupe stopped beside the footpath. “What tidings of the Belle Inconnue?” asked the Englishman. “None; she was not there. But I am rewarded: such an adventure! a dame of the haute volee; I believe she is a duchess. She was walking with a lap-dog, a pure Pomeranian. A strange poodle flew at the Pomeranian, I drove off the poodle, rescued the Pomeranian, received the most gracious thanks, the sweetest smile: femme superbe, middle aged. I prefer women of forty. Au revoir, I am due at the club.”
Alain felt a sensation of relief that Lemercier had not seen the lady in the pearl-coloured dress, and quitted the Englishman with a lightened heart.