pier-glasses, allegorical pictures, and filled with luxurious, low
furniture that seemed to invite caresses and embraces. Bordenave
occupied the ground floor, and the first floor served as a shrine for
the banker and his mistress. Well, just a week ago, in order to hide the
situation better, Bordenave asked Quillanet and some other friends to
one of those luncheons which he understands so well how to order, such a
delicious luncheon, that before it was quite over, every man had a woman
on his knees already, and was asking himself whether a kiss from coaxing
and naughty lips, was not a thousand times more intoxicating than the
finest old brandy or the choicest vintage wines, and was looking at the
bedroom door wishing to escape to it, although the Faculty altogether
forbids that fashion of digesting a dainty repast, when the butler came
in with an embarrassed look, and whispered something to him.

"Tell the gentleman that he has made a mistake, and ask him to leave me
in peace," Bordenave replied to him in an angry voice. The servant went
out and returned immediately to say that the intruder was using threats,
that he refused to leave the house, and even spoke of having recourse to
the commissary of police. Bordenave frowned, threw his table napkin
down, upset two glasses and staggered out with a red face, swearing and
stammering out:

"This is rather too much, and the fellow shall find out what going out
of the window means, if he will not leave by the door." But in the
ante-room he found himself face to face with a very cool, polite,
impassive gentleman, who said very quietly to him:

"You are Count Robert de Bordenave, I believe. Monsieur?"

"Yes, Monsieur."