“On the second, the door opposite the stairs.”
A minute later, the old man was waiting in Madame Juliette’s drawing-room. Madame was dressing, the maid informed him, and would be down directly.
Tabaret was astonished at the luxury of the room. There was nothing flaring or coarse, or in bad taste. It was not at all like the apartment of a kept woman. The old fellow, who knew a good deal about such things, saw that everything was of great value. The ornaments on the mantelpiece alone must have cost, at the lowest estimate, twenty thousand francs.
“Clergeot,” thought he, “didn’t exaggerate a bit.”
Juliette’s entrance disturbed his reflections.
She had taken off her dress, and had hastily thrown about her a loose black dressing-gown, trimmed with cherry-coloured satin. Her beautiful hair, slightly disordered after her drive, fell in cascades about her neck, and curled behind her delicate ears. She dazzled old Tabaret. He began to understand.
“You wished, sir, to speak with me?” she inquired, bowing gracefully.
“Madame,” replied M. Tabaret, “I am a friend of Noel Gerdy’s, I may say his best friend, and—”
“Pray sit down, sir,” interrupted the young woman.
She placed herself on a sofa, just showing the tips of her little feet encased in slippers matching her dressing-gown, while the old man sat down in a chair.