Philippe Lagier, who had called in the afternoon to fulfill his delicate mission to Mme. Derize in accordance with his promise to the lawyer, met M. Molay-Norrois coming downstairs.
"What a pleasant surprise! The visit of an enemy!" said the latter.
M. Molay-Norrois at sixty was by no means an old man. His scanty hair and beard à la Henry IV framed his ruddy face in white. Eyes of faded blue suggested a certain melancholy which belied his smile and the natural sprightliness of his expression and movements. He was dressed with care, a gray overcoat, gray high hat, patent leather shoes half hidden by fawn-colored spats, and from military habit—he had been a cavalry officer—he held himself very upright and rather stiff. He was slender and aristocratic-looking, and easily maintained an air of youth, of which he availed himself in the presence of women.
"I have not come as an enemy," said Philippe. "I want to arrange with your daughter to avoid this unhappy trial. You could help us."
"My daughter has gone out. The ladies are both at Mme. Passerat's; it is her day at home."
Philippe Lagier, who was standing on a lower step, looked up at the speaker. The latter showed a gracious, pleasant face, as innocent as a child's. Had not his well-known liaison with the beautiful Mme. Passerat become respectable with time, and did he not know better than anyone what is correct in society and what is not?
"Perhaps the ladies would receive me some other day," began the lawyer—
"But if you will come with me," answered M. Molay-Norrois, "we will go together. It is only across the Isère."
"With pleasure—"
There was in fact only the Isère to cross. The Villa Passerat stands on the opposite bank, almost at the entrance to the stone bridge. It consists of a building with a wing at the right and a turret at the left. This little turret, seemingly so useless and of doubtful architecture, had nevertheless played its modest part as watch tower: they said that one of its windows, usually closed, stood ostentatiously open during the occasional absence of M. Passerat, who was president of a local Academy of Art and Letters and director of several industrial societies. From the Quai de la République there is a very good view of the Quai de France. The house, smart and new, though in an old neighborhood, has a certain picturesqueness, due to its situation, but could have been greatly improved by being treated with more simplicity. It is ensconced, so to speak, in the rock which shelters it from the wind, and it is reached by a grated gate on the street level leading to a passage connecting with the outer buildings and the garage. The walls are covered with a wild vine. The terrace, overlooking the quay, is laid out as a garden, and from the entire façade, but more particularly from the upper stories (for some acacias planted at the edge of the river partially obstruct the view), one sees the magnificent panorama of the Dauphiné Alps, all the group of Belledonne and the Sept-Laux, snow-covered even in summer and glistening under the rays of the sun. On clear winter evenings when that snow, warmed by the glow of the sunset, takes on the color of almond flowers, this view charms the eye with more delicate shades than even Spring can offer.