"And grand mustachios."
"Hold!" said Chalomel, "it is the carriage of the Viscount de Saint
Remy."
"Ain't it stylish? Whew!"
Soon afterward Saint Remy entered the office. We have described the charming face, the exquisite elegance, the ravishing bearing of Saint Remy, arrived the previous evening from Arnouville Farm, belonging to the Duchess Lucenay, where he had found a refuge from the bailiffs.
Saint Remy entered the office hastily, his hat on, his manner haughty and proud, his eyes half closed, asking, in a very impertinent way, without looking at any one, "The notary? where is he?"
"M. Ferrand is busy in his private office," answered the head clerk; "if you will wait a moment, sir, he will receive you."
"I wait?"
"But, sir——"
"There are no 'but, sirs'; go and tell him that M. de Saint Remy is here. I find it very singular that this notary makes me wait in his antechamber; it smells of the stove."
"Please to pass into the next room, sir," said the clerk; "I will go at once and inform M. Ferrand."