Some moments later, the bailiff appeared in immaculate dress of the correct style, blue coat with gilded buttons, nankeen breeches, riding-boots and in his hand a fancy whip with carnelian handle. He wore a white muslin cravat which with his pale face made a pleasing contrast with the dark brown whiskers. His head was fringed with chestnut ringlets, amid which rose, on the left, the romantic tupé, the Chateaubriand coiffure. And Volpetti did strikingly resemble the author of the Genius of Christianity.
"You certainly have an amazing facility in transforming yourself," said the superintendent. "There now remains only a cloak for the road. Take two passports and make use of that which is the more appropriate. Spare no expense and reach London without losing a moment."
"Will your Excellency be so good as to give me definite instructions? Am I sent to spy upon my agents?"
"Your business is to dog the steps of the Marquis de Brezé and to discover his lodging, his acts, his thoughts and even the frequency of his heart-beats. This young gentleman is enamored of Naundorff's daughter and he reaches London this evening. He will doubtless, on arriving, take the road leading to his mistress. He may be Naundorff's ally, yes, he may be his rescuer this very night. We did not count on his presence and, to say the least, it complicates matters. Volpetti, there is no need to give you further instructions."
The bailiff bowed and departed, while the superintendent unfastened his coat, took out the letter which he had withheld from the flames, leisurely unfolded it and again lost himself in its perusal as though he were committing it to memory.
[Chapter VII]
THE EPICUREAN
Were the superintendent's office compared with the monarch's sanctum, the former would appear to be more ostentatious, but on deliberately examining the latter, much that was admirable, indicating the cultured tastes of the occupant, would be found. The windows opened toward the royal gardens which spread before the eye, like a rich tapestry, its beds of rare flowers and shrubbery, among which could be seen alabaster statues of Grecian deities glistening in the sunlight. Within, the walls were covered with paintings both modern and antique, and splendid armorial trophies from the East. Among the paintings were a nude in pearly tints by Titian, a Bacchante by Rubens, an Odalisque by Delacroix, and a Jupiter and Ganymede by Prudhon. There were fancy china-pieces of Saxon ware encased in glass, Grecian statuettes, bas reliefs in which consummate skill triumphed over crudity of subject, silver-plate ornately engraved, medallions, coins, pottery and jewels, many of these rarities being the treasures of an antiquarian connoisseur.
Back of the armchair and desk, which were superb specimens of Louis Quinze furniture, stood a book-case richly paneled and containing among its choicest volumes, editions of Plantin and Manuce, bound in morocco and Spanish-American calf. On the right, back of the screen, which concealed it was a costly piano awaiting the touch of fingers that were wont to interpret its enchanting secrets.