Meantime, Maxence and Lucienne reached the commissary’s house. He was at home; they walked in. And, as soon as they appeared,
“I expected you,” he said.
He was a man already past middle age, but active and vigorous still. With his white cravat and long frock-coat, he looked like a notary. Benign was the expression of his countenance; but the lustre of his little gray eyes, and the mobility of his nostrils, showed that it should not be trusted too far.
“Yes, I expected you,” he repeated, addressing himself as much to Maxence as to Mlle. Lucienne. “It is the Mutual Credit matter which brings you here?”
Maxence stepped forward,
“I am Vincent Favoral’s son, sir,” he replied. “I have still my mother and a sister. Our situation is horrible. Mlle. Lucienne suggested that you might be willing to give me some advice; and here we are.”
The commissary rang, and, on the bell being answered,
“I am at home for no one,” he said.
And then turning to Maxence,
“Mlle. Lucienne did well to bring you,” he said; “for it may be, that, whilst rendering her an important service, I may also render you one. But I have no time to lose. Sit down, and tell me all about it.” With the most scrupulous exactness Maxence told the history of his family, and the events of the past twenty-four hours.