“I was, I confess, somewhat intimidated by all of this splendor; and I remained awkwardly standing, when suddenly the servants stood up respectfully.
“A door had just opened, through which appeared a man already past middle age, tall, thin, dressed in the extreme of fashion, and wearing long red whiskers falling over his chest.”
“The Baron de Thaller,” murmured Maxence.
Mlle. Lucienne took no notice of the interruption.
“The attitude of the servants,” she went on, “had made me easily guess that he was the master. I was bowing to him, blushing and embarrassed, when, noticing me, he stopped short, shuddering from head to foot.
“‘Who are you?’ he asked me roughly.
“I attributed his manner to the sad condition of my dress, which appeared more miserable and more dilapidated still amid the surrounding splendors; and, in a scarcely intelligible voice, I began,
“‘I am a poor girl, sir—’
“But he interrupted me.
“‘To the point! What do you want?’