And, opening the door, he conducted the priest out.
That same evening, about nine o’clock, after dinner, Lichtenbach descended from his brougham, close to the entrance of the Boulevard Maillat. It was a brilliant night, and the groves in the Bois, under the silvery light of the moon, raised their dark masses against the horizon. The banker hurried along, not without some anxiety, for the spot was a deserted one, and a likely haunt of undesirable characters. After walking about a hundred yards, he halted in front of the ivy-covered gate of a villa, and knocked. A few seconds passed, then a small door turned on its hinges, and a woman appeared. It was Milona. Recognizing the banker, she stepped backwards, without uttering a word, and led the way into a garden in front of the house.
“Is madame at home?” asked Elias.
“She is expecting you,” said the Dalmatian, in guttural accents.
“Good. Have the others arrived?”
“Yes; an hour ago.”
They proceeded along a flower-bed, the flowers of which gave out fragrant odours on to the night air. The servant mounted a flight of steps, followed by Lichtenbach. On reaching a dark ante-chamber, Lichtenbach handed his overcoat and hat to Milona, who opened a door, and out of the darkness he passed suddenly into the light of the salon, the windows and curtains of which were hermetically closed. Seated at a table, Hans and Agostini were playing at piquet and drinking grog. On a divan Sophia reclined, in an elegant white deshabillé. The two men scarcely raised their heads on hearing Lichtenbach enter. The Baroness slowly sat upright, nodded graciously, and said—
“Sit down by my side. They are finishing their game. How did you come? I did not hear the wheels of your carriage.”
“I left it near the Porte Maillot.”
“What precautions! Can you not trust your coachman?”