All at once, without the slightest warning, Monsieur Blaise stood up. Bayre, still watching him, thought that he was going to denounce his host where he stood. But instead of that, Monsieur Blaise said abruptly, after drawing one of those stertorous breaths which the slightest exertion evoked from him,—
“Well, I will not trouble you now. I—I will come again when you are better. Till then, au revoir, au revoir.”
Old Mr Bayre looked up in surprise. His visitor was already at the door, and the younger man, agitated and curious, was by this time on his feet.
“You will have some coffee with me,” said the host, placing his hand upon a spring-bell on a table beside him.
“No, no, my friend, another time, another time.”
Monsieur Blaise was already out of the room, and as old Mr Bayre at once turned away and looked at the fire with no more interest in the visitors, his nephew, with a formal bow of which his host took no notice, followed his companion out of the room.
They passed through the handsome outer saloon, and the smaller one, and found Marie Vazon waiting in the hall. The girl looked from the one face to the other with sly eyes, but Monsieur Blaise said nothing until he and the younger man were out of the house.
Half-way down the avenue he drew a long breath, took off his hat, and wiped his bald forehead with a large coloured silk handkerchief. His face was pale, almost haggard, and his eyes still had the same scared expression as before.
“Mon Dieu!” cried he, “I have had such a shock! I have made such a discovery!”
“Well, what is it? what is it?” cried Bayre, in a fever.