"The post-chaise the Count de Lhorailles ordered is waiting," he said.
"Thanks," one of the guests said, dismissing the waiter by a sign.
The latter went out, and closed the door after him. The few words he had uttered had broken the charm which enchained the guests; all sat up, as if aroused from sleep suddenly; and turning to a young man of thirty, they said,—
"It is really true that you are going?"
"I am," he answered, with a nod of affirmation.
"Where to, though? People do not usually part in this mysterious way," one of the guests continued.
The gentleman to whom the remark was addressed smiled sorrowfully.
The Count de Lhorailles was a handsome man, with expressive features, energetic glance, and disdainful lip; he belonged to the most ancient nobility, and his reputation was perfectly established among the "lions" of the day. He rose, and looking round the circle, said,—
"Gentlemen, I can perfectly well understand that my conduct appears to you strange. You have a right to an explanation from me, and I am most desirous to give it to you. It was, indeed, for that purpose that I invited you to the last supper we shall enjoy together. The hour for my departure has struck—the chaise is waiting. Tomorrow I shall be far from Paris, and within a week I shall have left France never to return. Listen to me."
The guests made a marked movement as they gazed on the count.