He rang for Lermina, his valet, and bathed and dressed himself with most scrupulous care. It was now half-past eleven. He ordered déjeuner to be served a quarter of an hour earlier than its usual time, and was seated at the meal when Lavenne was announced. He told the servant to show the visitor up, and when Lavenne entered rose from the table to greet him.
Lavenne formed a striking contrast to the elegant Rochefort. Lavenne was a man who, at first sight, seemed a young man, and at second sight, a man of middle age, soberly dressed, of middle height, and remarkable only for eyes wonderfully bright and luminous. Rochefort, who did not possess de Sartines’ power of reading men, had still the gift of deciding at once whether a person pleased him or not. He liked this man’s manner and appearance and face, and received him in a manner that at once made the newcomer at home.
Rochefort had not two manners, one for the rich and one for the poor. Whilst always rigidly keeping his own place, he would talk familiarly with anyone, from the king to the beggar at the corner of the street. But it would go hard with the man who presumed on this fact. Lavenne knew Rochefort quite well by name and appearance, had ranked him among the titled larvæ of the Court who were always passing under his eyes, and was surprised to find, after a few minutes’ talk, what a pleasant person he was.
“I have left the hat and cloak, monsieur, with your servant,” said Lavenne. “My master, the Comte de Sartines, gave me instructions to bring them with me.
“Ah, the hat and cloak!” said Rochefort. “I had forgotten them. Thanks. Will you not be seated? I have just finished déjeuner, and shall be quite at your disposal when the carriage arrives. I ordered it for twelve, as I suppose we had better drive to this place, which is in the Porcheron district. Will you not have a glass of wine?” He poured out a glass of Beaune, and whilst Lavenne drank it, finished his breakfast, chatting all the time, but saying nothing at all on the object of their journey till they were in the carriage and driving to their destination.
“You expect to find him in, this Monsieur Ferminard?” asked Rochefort.
“Yes, monsieur. He is very poor just now, and when in that state he avoids the streets and cafés.”
“Ah, ah!” said Rochefort, wondering how this very poor man, who avoided even the streets, could be of help to the powerful Comtesse Dubarry at one of the most critical moments of her life. But he said nothing more; he did not like to appear as though he were trying to draw Lavenne out.
The Porcheron quarter lay between the Faubourg Montmartre and La Ville l’Évêque. It was sparsely populated, and here, at a tavern whose sign represented a hound running down a hare amidst long grass, the carriage drew up.