The other, the viscount, had suddenly sprung up out of the ground,
and carried off from under his very nose that magnificent prize,
the Chalusse inheritance, which he had considered as good as won.
And he had not only been defrauded and swindled--such were his own
expressions--but he had been tricked, deceived, duped, and
outwitted, and by whom? By people who did not make it their
profession to be shrewd, like he did himself. Just fancy, his
business was to outwit others, and a couple of mere amateurs had
outgeneraled him. He had not only suffered in pocket, he had been
humiliated as well, and so he indulged in threats of such terrible
import.
However, at the very moment when he was dreaming of wreaking
vengeance on the Marquis de Valorsay and the Viscount de Coralth,
his housekeeper, austere Madame Dodelin, handed him Mademoiselle
Marguerite's letter. He read it with intense astonishment,
rubbing his eyes as if to assure himself that he were really
awake. "Tuesday," he repeated, "the day after to-morrow--at your
house--between three and four o'clock--I must speak with you."
His manner was so strange, and his usually impassive face so
disturbed by conflicting feelings, that Madame Dodelin's curiosity
overcame her prudence, and she remained standing in front of him
with open mouth, staring with all her eyes and listening with all
her ears.
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