A man was sitting at a writing-desk and looking through some account-books. Without turning his head, he said:
"I am at your service, madam.... Please look round you...."
This room contained nothing but articles of a special character which gave it the appearance of some alchemist's laboratory in the middle ages: stuffed owls, skeletons, skulls, copper alembics, astrolabes and all around, hanging on the walls, amulets of every description, mainly hands of ivory or coral with two fingers pointing to ward off ill-luck.
"Are you wanting anything in particular, madam?" asked M. Pancaldi, closing his desk and rising from his chair.
"It's the man," thought Hortense.
He had in fact an uncommonly pasty complexion. A little forked beard, flecked with grey, lengthened his face, which was surmounted by a bald, pallid forehead, beneath which gleamed a pair of small, prominent, restless, shifty eyes.
Hortense, who had not removed her veil or cloak, replied:
"I want a clasp."
"They're in this show-case," he said, leading the way to the connecting room.
Hortense glanced over the glass case and said: