For three days he had not seen his friends, who must be very much occupied by the return of the daughter of the house; and he was already feeling bored, and even a little offended because they had not sent for him sooner, but not wishing, as a matter of discretion, to be the first to make an approach.
The Countess's letter aroused him like the stroke of a whip. It was three o'clock in the afternoon. He decided to go immediately to her house, that he might find her before she went out.
The valet appeared, summoned by the sound of Olivier's bell.
“What sort of weather is it, Joseph?”
“Very fine, Monsieur.”
“Warm?”
“Yes, Monsieur.”
“White waistcoat, blue jacket, gray hat.”
He always dressed with elegance, but although his tailor turned him out in correct styles, the very way in which he wore his clothes, his manner of walking, his comfortable proportions encased in a white waistcoat, his high gray felt hat, tilted a little toward the back of his head, seemed to reveal at once that he was both an artist and a bachelor.
When he reached the Countess's house, he was told that she was dressing for a drive in the Bois. He was a little vexed at this, and waited.