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Updated: June 28, 2025
The argument was of a nature to touch the waiters; they thought the young man quite right; but they did not know M. de Coralth's address, and they saw no way of procuring it. "Unless perhaps the porter knows," observed one of them. The porter, on being called, remembered that he had once been sent to M. de Coralth's house for an overcoat.
Madame d'Argeles's laugh had an unnatural ring that awakened his suspicions. All Coralth's recommendations buzzed confusedly in his ears, and he judged that the moment had come "to do the sentimental," as he would have expressed it. So he lowered his head, and in an aggrieved tone, exclaimed: "Ah! you think it very amusing, I don't.
Chupin's mind was so busily occupied with these thoughts that he reached the Rue d'Anjou and M. de Coralth's house almost before he was aware of it. To his great surprise, the concierge and his wife were not alone. Florent was there, taking coffee with them. The valet had divested himself of his borrowed finery, and had donned his red waistcoat again.
Although he was prone to exaggerate his own powers and the fecundity of his resources, he had not flattered himself with the hope that he should succeed in crossing the threshold of M. de Coralth's rooms. For, without any great mental effort, he had realized that the servant arrayed in the red waistcoat was in the viscount's employ, and these flowers were to be carried to his apartments.
"What is his position?" M. de Coralth's features wore an expression of exceeding weariness as if he greatly longed to go to sleep. He had indeed installed himself in a large arm-chair, in a semi-recumbent position. "Upon my word, I don't know," he replied. "Pascal had always seemed to be the most irreproachable man in the world a man you might call a philosopher!
Living in the same society with the Baroness Trigault, and knowing her story, he thought that Coralth's name might, perhaps, have irritated the baron. "And so," he quickly continued, "don't be surprised if, during the coming week, you see the sale of my horses announced." "What! you are going to sell " "All my horses yes, baron.
I fancied I saw you in the Bois, in the Marquis de Valorsay's dog-cart." A slight flush suffused M. de Coralth's cheeks, and to hide it, perhaps, he turned toward the visitor who had entered with him, and drew him toward Madame d'Argeles, saying, "Allow me, madame, to present to you one of my great friends, M. Pascal Ferailleur, an advocate whose name will be known to fame some day."
M. de Coralth's persistence, and the importance he attached to a mere trifle, could not fail to annoy the most patient man in the world, and in fact his patronizing tone really irritated Pascal. "You are free, my friend, to do as you please," said he; "but I " "Are you resolved?" interrupted the viscount. "Absolutely." "So be it, then. You are no longer a child, and I have warned you.
He fancied that there was some mysterious connection between this letter intended for M. de Coralth's wife and the missive sent to the baroness. And why should it not be so? Had they not both been written under the influence of anger?
The prospect of sending his seconds to demand satisfaction from Baron Trigault was certainly a very attractive one. But, on the other hand, Wilkie could not afford to dispense with M. de Coralth's services. "But the baron has insulted me," he urged. "Well, you can demand satisfaction when you obtain possession of your property: but the least scandal now would spoil your last chances."
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