“I have seen him pass,—a tall, lean, old fellow, who doesn’t look very rich, either. But excuse me: here is a customer I must wait upon.”
Having walked out into the street,
“We must separate now,” declared M. de Tregars to Maxence.
“What! You wish to—”
“Go and wait for me in that Café yonder, at the corner of the street. I must see that Zelie Cadelle and speak to her.”
And without suffering an objection on the part of Maxence, he walked resolutely up to the cottage-gate, and rang vigorously.
At the sound of the bell, one of those servants stepped out into the yard, who seem manufactured on purpose, heaven knows where, for the special service of young ladies who keep house,—a tall rascal with sallow complexion and straight hair, a cynical eye, and a low, impudent smile.
“What do you wish, sir?” he inquired through the grating.
“That you should open the door, first,” uttered M. de Tregars, with such a look and such an accent, that the other obeyed at once.
“And now,” he added, “go and announce me to Mme. Zelie Cadelle.”