Two liveried footmen were standing at the door of the
drawing-room, and one of them advanced to relieve Wilkie of his
overcoat, but his services were declined. "I don't wish to go
in," said the young man roughly. "I wish to speak with Madame
d'Argeles in private. She is expecting me--inform her. Here is
my card."
The servant was hesitating, when Job, suspecting some mystery
perhaps, approached. "Take in the gentleman's card," he said,
with an air of authority; and, opening the door of a small room on
the left-hand side of the staircase, he invited Wilkie to enter,
saying, "If monsieur will be kind enough to take a seat, I will
summon madame at once."
M. Wilkie sank into an arm-chair, considerably overcome. The air
of luxury that pervaded the entire establishment, the liveried
servants, the lights and flowers, all impressed him much more
deeply than he would have been willing to confess. And in spite
of his affected arrogance, he felt that the superb assurance which
was the dominant trait in his character was deserting him. In his
breast, moreover, in the place where physiologists locate the
heart, he felt certain extraordinary movements which strongly
resembled palpitations. For the first time it occurred to him
that this woman, whose peace he had come to destroy, was not only
the heiress of the Count de Chalusse's millions, but also his
mother, that is to say, the good fairy whose protection had
followed him everywhere since he entered the world.
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