"That must be he!" said La Roulante.
It was in fact Talizac, who had arrived. Fernando was with him, but the Vicomte had knocked with the handle of his cane. It was not the signal agreed upon, and the door was not opened. Suddenly Frederic uttered an oath.
"Oh! it is he!" said Robeccal. "That is better than a visiting card!"
But La Roulante insisted on a little argument through the door before she would consent to move the heavy bolts.
"Damned sorceress!" cried Talizac, "you deserve that I should cut your face with my cane, for keeping me waiting so long."
La Roulante made no reply to this gentle address, and Talizac, with blood-stained face and torn clothing, entered the house, followed by Fernando, who was as dignified and correct in costume as he always was.
When Talizac reached the salon, he dropped into a chair. "Water! for the love of Heaven, give me some water!" he murmured. He felt almost ill, and would have been glad of a few hours of rest. "Is she here?" he asked.
"Yes, she is here," answered La Roulante.
Talizac rose. "I must repair the disorder of my toilette," he said. "Robeccal, come with me."