"Why have you come here?" asked the steward.

"I have brought the deed of sale for the farm at Moulineaux, all ready
for signature."

"Good heavens!" exclaimed the steward, "I don't understand one word of
all this!"

Moreau felt his heart beat painfully when, after giving two raps on
his master's door, he heard the words:--

"Is that you, _Monsieur_ Moreau?"

"Yes, monseigneur."

"Come in."

The count was now wearing a pair of white trousers and thin boots, a
white waistcoat and a black coat on which shone the grand cross of the
Legion upon the right breast, and fastened to a buttonhole on the left
was the order of the Golden Fleece hanging by a short gold chain. He
had arranged his hair himself, and had, no doubt, put himself in full
dress to do the honors of Presles to Monsieur Margueron; and,
possibly, to impress the good man's mind with a prestige of grandeur.

"Well, monsieur," said the count, who remained seated, leaving Moreau
to stand before him. "We have not concluded that purchase from
Margueron."

"He asks too much for the farm at the present moment."