"Let him come in," said the
baron.
It was Job, Madame Lia d'Argeles's confidential servant, who
entered the room. He bowed respectfully, and, with an air of
profound mystery exclaimed: "I have been looking for the baron
everywhere. I was ordered by madame not to return without him."
"Very well," said M. Trigault. "I will go with you at once."
V.
How was it that a clever man like M. Fortunat made such a blunder
as to choose a Sunday, and a racing Sunday too, to call on M.
Wilkie. His anxiety might explain the mistake, but it did not
justify it. He felt certain, that under any other circumstances
he would not have been dismissed so cavalierly. He would at least
have been allowed to develop his proposals, and then who knows
what might have happened?
But the races had interfered with his plans. M. Wilkie had been
compelled to attend to Pompier de Nanterre, that famous
steeplechaser, of which he owned one-third part, and he had,
moreover, to give orders to the jockey, whose lord and master he
was to an equal extent. These were sacred duties, since Wilkie's
share in a race-horse constituted his only claim to a footing in
fashionable society. But it was a strong claim--a claim that
justified the display of whips and spurs that decorated his
apartments in the Rue du Helder, and allowed him to aspire to the
character of a sporting man.
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