“That is your darkey all over!” cried Mademoiselle Adele. “If your nabob is a nabob, he can very well afford to give madame the furniture. The lease ends in April 1830; your nabob may renew it if he likes.”
“I am quite willing,” said Peyrade, speaking French with a strong English accent, as he came in and tapped the woman on the shoulder.
He cast a knowing look back at Carlos, who replied by an assenting nod, understanding that the nabob was to keep up his part.
But the scene suddenly changed its aspect at the entrance of a person over whom neither Carlos nor Peyrade had the least power. Corentin suddenly came in. He had found the door open, and looked in as he went by to see how his old friend played his part as nabob.
“The Prefet is still bullying me!” said Peyrade in a whisper to Corentin. “He has found me out as a nabob.”
“We will spill the Prefet,” Corentin muttered in reply.
Then after a cool bow he stood darkly scrutinizing the magistrate.
“Stay here till I return,” said Carlos; “I will go to the Prefecture. If you do not see me again, you may go your own way.”
Having said this in an undertone to Peyrade, so as not to humiliate him in the presence of the waiting-maid, Carlos went away, not caring to remain under the eye of the newcomer, in whom he detected one of those fair-haired, blue-eyed men, coldly terrifying.
“That is the peace-officer sent after me by the Prefet,” said Peyrade.