"It must be some ambassador's."
"And the chasseur, look how he is bedizened all over with silver!"
"And what moustachios!"
"Oh," said Jabulot, "it is the Viscount de Saint-Remy's carriage!"
"What! is that the way he does it? Oh, my!"
Soon after the Viscount de Saint-Remy entered the office.
We have already described the handsome appearance, elegance of style, and aristocratical demeanour of M. de Saint-Remy, when he was on his way to the farm of Arnouville (the estate of Madame de Lucenay), where he had found a retreat from the pursuit of the bailiffs, Malicorne and Bourdin. The viscount, who entered unceremoniously into the office, with his hat on his head, a haughty and disdainful look, and his eyes half closed, asked, with an air of extreme superciliousness, and without looking at anybody:
"Where is the notary?"
"M. Ferrand is engaged in his private room," said the chief clerk. "If you will please to wait a moment, sir, he will see you."
"What do you mean by wait a moment?"