And so soon as they were quite out of sight of the Wardlock flunky, he opened the front window of his nondescript vehicle, and called—
"Drive to Slowton."
Which, accordingly, was done. M. Varbarriere, in profound good-humour, a flood of light and certainty having come upon him, sat back luxuriously in a halo of sardonic glory, and was smiling to himself, as men sometimes will over the chess-board when the rest of their game is secure.
At the Bell and Horns he was received with a reverential welcome.
"A gentleman been inquiring for Monsieur Varbarriere?" asked the foreign gentleman in black, descending.
"A gentleman, sir, as has took number seven, and expects a gentleman to call, but did not say who, which his name is Mr. Rumsey?"
"Very good," said Monsieur Varbarriere.
Suddenly he recollected that General Lennox's letter might have reached the post-office, and, plucking a card from his case, wrote an order on it for his letters, which he handed to Boots, who trudged away to the post-office close by.
Varbarriere was half sorry now that he had opened his correspondence with old General Lennox so soon. He had no hope that Donica Gwynn's reserves would have melted and given way so rapidly in the interview which had taken place. He was a man who cared nothing about penal justice, who had embraced the world's ethics early, and looked indulgently on escapades of human nature, and had no natural turn for cruelty, although he could be cruel enough when an object was to be accomplished.
"I don't think I'd have done it, though he deserves it richly, and has little right to look for quarter at my hands."