“Madame is out,” replied the valet.
And noticing that M. de Tregars shrugged his shoulders,
“Upon my word,” he said, “she has gone to the bois with one of her friends. If you won’t believe me, ask my comrades there.”
And he pointed out two other servants of the same pattern as himself, who were silting at a table in the carriage-house, playing cards, and drinking.
But M. de Tregars did not mean to be imposed upon. He felt certain that the man was lying. Instead, therefore, of discussing,
“I want you to take me to your mistress,” he ordered, in a tone that admitted of no objection; “or else I’ll find my way to her alone.”
It was evident that he would do just as he said, by force if needs be. The valet saw this, and, after hesitating a moment longer,
“Come along, then,” he said, “since you insist so much. We’ll talk to the chambermaid.”
And, having led M. de Tregars into the vestibule, he called out, “Mam’selle Amanda!”
A woman at once made her appearance who was a worthy mate for the valet. She must have been about forty, and the most alarming duplicity could be read upon her features, deeply pitted by the small-pox. She wore a pretentious dress, an apron like a stage-servant, and a cap profusely decorated with flowers and ribbons.