After the lapse of a few moments, the chief clerk introduced the Duchess de Lucenay, very simply attired, wearing a large shawl, and her features entirely concealed by a thick veil of black lace, depending from her watered silk bonnet of the same colour.
Madame de Lucenay, a good deal agitated, walked slowly towards the notary's bureau, who advanced a few paces to meet her.
"Who are you, madame; and what may be your business with me?" said Jacques Ferrand, abruptly; for Sarah's menaces and M. Charles Robert's suspicions had a good deal ruffled him. Moreover, the duchess was clad so simply, that the notary did not see any reason why he should not be rude. As she did not immediately reply, he continued, abruptly:
"Will you be so kind as to inform me, madame?"
"Sir," she said, in a faltering voice, and endeavouring to conceal her face in the folds of her veil, "Sir, may I entrust you with a secret of extreme importance?"
"You may trust me with anything, madame. But it is requisite that I should know and see to whom I speak."
"That, sir, perhaps, is not necessary. I know that you are probity and honour itself—"
"To the point, madame,—to the point. I have some one waiting for me. Who are you?"
"My name is of no consequence, sir. One—of—my friends,—a relative,—has just left you."
"His name?"