So he had come home, quite sorrowful, distressed at Jacques’s situation, and very much disturbed by the political aspect which the matter was beginning to wear. He had spent a bad night, and in the morning had displayed such fearful temper, that his wife had hardly dared to say a word to him. But even that was not all. At two o’clock precisely, the funeral of Bolton and Guillebault was to take place; and he had promised Capt. Parenteau that he would be present in his official costume, and accompanied by the whole municipal council. He had already given orders to have his uniform gotten ready, when the servant announced visitors,—M. de Chandore and friend.
“That was all that was wanting!” he exclaimed
But, thinking it over, he added,—
“Well, it had to come sooner or later. Show them in!”
M. Seneschal was too good to be so troubled in advance, and to prepare himself for a heart-rending scene. He was amazed at the easy, almost cheerful manner with which M. de Chandore presented to him his companion.
“M. Manuel Folgat, my dear Seneschal, a famous lawyer from Paris, who has been kind enough to come down with the Marchioness de Boiscoran.”
“I am a stranger here, M. Seneschal,” said Folgat: “I do not know the manner of thinking, the customs, the interests, the prejudices, of this country; in fact, I am totally ignorant, and I know I would commit many a grievous blunder, unless I could secure the assistance of an able and experienced counsellor. M. de Boiscoran and M. de Chandore have both encouraged me to hope that I might find such a man in you.”
“Certainly, sir, and with all my heart,” replied M. Seneschal, bowing politely, and evidently flattered by this deference on the part of a great Paris lawyer.
He had offered his guests seats. He had sat down himself, and resting his elbow on the arm of his big office-chair, he rubbed his clean-shaven chin with his hand.
“This is a very serious matter, gentlemen,” he said at last.