The Marquis nodded.
“I didn’t think she cared enough,” said her admirer thoughtfully. “I suppose you worked on her feelings? Heavens, what a scene! So I owe my release to Célie—and to you. One must not forget the amiable Lecorrier too; I presume she got the order through him.”
“Probably,” returned Château-Foix drily. “I did not enquire as to the means she proposed to adopt.”
Louis laughed. “They have their humorous side. You must give me a full account some time. Parbleu, mon cher, but you must have been having the deuce of a time these two days!”
“And yourself?” asked Gilbert.
The Vicomte gave a shrug. “My only consolation was that the accommodation in the next world would be better. One has always understood that it is exceptionally good there. The company I would not have wished to change. Is this the Place des Victoires already?”
At the hotel a sleepy servant, in response to enquiry, informed Château-Foix that a bed had been prepared for Monsieur’s new valet in the little dressing-room leading out of his own apartment, and within a few minutes the Vicomte stood, candle in hand, looking down at the sober grey suit which his cousin was placing on his pallet bed. The cloak, half slipping off his shoulders, displayed the elegance which he must discard for it.
“I hope these will fit,” said the Marquis. “They are quite new; I got them this afternoon. What is to be done, I wonder, with the compromising clothes you have on?”
Louis suddenly put down the candle, and impulsively, half laughing, half touched, laid his hands on Gilbert’s shoulders from behind. “My dear Gilbert, I don't deserve all this trouble!”
“Don’t you?” asked the Marquis in an odd tone, turning round and facing his kinsman. “Don’t you? Why not?”