"No, no, ... I don't see what I'm looking for. I don't want just any clasp, but a clasp which I lost out of a jewel-case some years ago and which I have to look for here."
She was astounded to see the commotion displayed on his features. His eyes became haggard.
"Here?... I don't think you are in the least likely.... What sort of clasp is it?..."
"A cornelian, mounted in gold filigree ... of the 1830 period."
"I don't understand," he stammered. "Why do you come to me?"
She now removed her veil and laid aside her cloak.
He stepped back, as though terrified by the sight of her, and whispered:
"The blue gown!... The toque!... And--can I believe my eyes?--the jet necklace!..."
It was perhaps the whip-lash formed of three rushes that excited him most violently. He pointed his finger at it, began to stagger where he stood and ended by beating the air with his arms, like a drowning man, and fainting away in a chair.
Hortense did not move.