While saying these words the marquis threw on the table the purse filled with gold, which he still held in his hand, and a smile escaped the lips of the barber. His guest resumed his cloak and replaced his hat on his head.
"It is late," said the marquis, wrapping himself in his mantle, "and I must go home. The day after tomorrow, toward ten o'clock, I will return to learn the result of your proceedings."
"Shall I find anybody at your little house?"
"Yes, Marcel, one of my people, a devoted servant who lives there constantly. I will warn him."
"That is enough, monseigneur, and I hope that you will be pleased with me on this occasion."
"I leave it all to your zeal; in fact, the little one is very pleasing, and ought to amuse me for some time. Come, my dear Touquet, let us follow our destiny. Gallantry, voluptuousness, pleasure,—that is my life; that is the road which I follow where my passions lead me. I should not know how to follow any other walk now; like a blind man who trusts in Providence, I do not know if this road will lead me to happiness; but I cannot turn aside from it."
The marquis turned his steps toward the door, and Touquet proposed to his distinguished guest that he should guide him to his dwelling.
"Thank you," said the marquis, "it is unnecessary; I have my sword, and I fear nothing."
While uttering these words the marquis had plunged into the street and disappeared from the barber's sight. The latter closed the door and returned to the little room. Arrived there, he hastened to take the purse which lay on the table; he counted the pieces which it contained, nor could he raise his eyes from the sight of the gold. But soon a dull, melancholy sound was heard; it was Saint-Eustache's clock striking two. The barber turned pale; his hair seemed to stand up on his head; he threw about him gloomy glances, as if he feared to perceive some frightful object; then he placed the purse in his bosom, took a lamp and went toward the door at the end of the room, murmuring in a sad voice,—