Henri opened the door. "The Marquis de Flourens," he announced; and the marquis entered the room with his feathered hat and his clouded cane in his hand.
"This is Monsieur Oliver de Monnière?" said he.
Oliver bowed.
"And this lady?"
"Permit me," said Oliver; "my mother."
Madame de Monnière courtesied so low that she nearly sat down upon the floor. She was profoundly agitated; she was frightened; she would rather be somewhere else. She was pleased. Yes, it was delicious having a marquis visit one in one's own house.
"And you, madame," said the marquis, "if I may be permitted to ask, did me the honor of calling upon me this morning?"
Madame de Monnière nodded. She was embarrassed at the thought of what she had done; she could not speak. Oliver spoke for her.
"She obliged me," said he, "by executing a little commission for me. Pardon me, monseigneur, that, knowing your interest as a collector, I took the liberty of sending a small specimen to you. I have your forgiveness?"