For if he had looked upon M. de Coralth as an oracle, he
considered the marquis to be a perfect god.
Accordingly, as he hastened toward Madame d'Argeles's residence,
he said to himself: "Why shouldn't I go to her house? I've done
her no injury. Besides, she won't eat me." And remembering that
he should be obliged to render a report of this interview, he
resolved to assert his superiority and to remain cool and unmoved,
as he had seen M. de Coralth do so often.
However, the unusual aspect of the house excited his surprise, and
puzzled him not a little. Three huge furniture vans, heavily
laden, were standing outside the gate. In the courtyard there
were two more vehicles of the same description, which a dozen men
or so were busily engaged in loading. "Ah, ha!" muttered M.
Wilkie, "it was fortunate that I came--very fortunate; so she was
going to run away!" Thereupon, approaching a group of servants who
were in close conference in the hall, he demanded, in his most
imperious manner: "Madame d'Argeles!"
The servants remembered the visitor perfectly; they now knew who
he really was, and they could not understand how he could have the
impudence and audacity to come there again so soon after the
shameful scene of the previous evening. "Madame is at home,"
replied one of the men, in anything but a polite tone; "and I will
go and see if she will consent to see you.
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