“Laugh away, ladies,” said de Praille gayly. “You shall see a real Norman beauty, and then see how jealous you will all become at sight of her.”
At this moment a noise was heard from the outside, and in the midst of some confusion a rather singular voice was heard saying:
“I tell you I must go in, and I will. I must speak to your master.”
On hearing this the Marquis went toward 25 the entrance, and demanded of the servants who this was who was so importunate.
“Picard,” answered the owner of the singular voice. “Picard, valet to the Chevalier de Vaudrey.”
The Marquis immediately gave orders that he be admitted, and a sharp, wiry-looking fellow, wearing the de Vaudrey livery, stood before the gay party.
“Most excellent Marquis and most beautiful ladies,” he said to the general mirth as he curtsied low and executed a neat pas seul, “my master the Chevalier is very late, but he will surely appear.”
“Late?” protested one of the young blades who knew the Prefect’s nephew. “Why, he told me he expected to be here early.”
“Alas, detained by business––” replied Picard in a melancholy tone.
“Business! A young nobleman has no business!”