"Here, monsieur, and approve the document first, but it is customary—"
Pascal wrote the approval of the document with a spasmodic and trembling hand, signed it, threw the pen on the desk, and inclined his head so as not to meet the glance of Madeleine.
"There is no flourish here," said the careful notary.
Pascal made the flourish; the notary took the deed with a surprised, almost frightened look, so sinister and dreadful was the expression of Pascal's face.
The marquise, perfectly cool, took up her letter of credit lying on the desk, and said to the financier:
"As I will have need of all my funds for my journey, monsieur, and as I leave this evening, I am going, if you please, to receive the whole amount of this letter of credit."
"Pass to the counting-room," replied Pascal, mechanically, his eyes wandering and bloodshot; his livid pallor had suddenly turned to a purplish red.
Madeleine preceding the notary, who made a pretext of saluting Pascal in order to look at him again, still with an air of alarm, went out of the office, shut the door, and said to the servant:
"Where is the counting-room, please?"
"The first door on the left in the court, madame."