"Are these your sorrels, Saint Remy?"
"Yes."
"And your fat driver—what a figure! Just see how he holds his horses in his hands! I must confess, there is no one but a Saint Remy who has the best of everything."
"Madame de Lucenay and her cousin are waiting," said Florestan, with bitterness.
"It is true; how rude I am! Soon again, Saint Remy. Oh, I forgot; if you have nothing better to do, come and dine with us to-morrow. Lord Dudley has sent me from Scotland some grouse and heathcocks. Just imagine something monstrous. It is agreed, is it not?"
The duke joined his wife and Conrad. Saint Remy remained alone, and saw the carriage depart; his own drew up, and as he took his seat he cast a look of rage, hatred, and despair on this house, where he had so often entered as a master, and which he now left, ignominiously driven away.
"Home," he said, roughly.
"To the hotel," said the footman to Patterson, shutting the door.
The bitter and sorrowful thoughts of Florestan on his way home can easily be imagined. As he entered, Boyer, who was waiting for him at the lodge, said, "My lord, the count is upstairs."
"It is well."