For the first, and probably the last
time in his life, M. Wilkie distrusted his own powers, and feared
that he was not "quite up to the mark," as he elegantly expressed
it.
The sight of the Marquis de Valorsay's handsome mansion was not
likely to restore his assurance. When he entered the courtyard,
where the master's mail-phaeton stood in waiting; when through the
open doors of the handsome stables he espied the many valuable
horses neighing in their stalls, and the numerous carriages
shrouded in linen covers; when he counted the valets on duty in
the vestibule, and when he ascended the staircase behind a lackey
attired in a black dress-coat, and as serious in mien as a notary;
when he passed through the handsome drawing-rooms, filled to
overflowing with pictures, armor, statuary, and all the trophies
gained by the marquis's horses upon the turf, M. Wilkie mentally
acknowledged that he knew nothing of high life, and that what he
had considered luxury was scarcely the shadow of the reality. He
felt actually ashamed of his own ignorance. This feeling of
inferiority became so powerful that he was almost tempted to turn
and fly, when the man clothed in black opened the door and
announced, in a clear voice: "M. le Vicomte de Coralth!--M.
Wilkie."
With a most gracious and dignified air--the air of a true GRAND
seigneur--the only portion of his inheritance which he had
preserved intact, the marquis rose to his feet, and, offering his
hand to M.
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