himself to any great extent about his
mother. Like every one else, he knew that she had disappeared, but
nothing further. On the other hand, the thought of his father, the
terrible chevalier d'industrie, hung over his joy like a pall; and each
time the great entrance bell announced a visitor, he trembled, turned
pale, and muttered: "Perhaps it's he!"

Tortured by this fear, he clung closely to the Marquis de Valorsay as if
he felt that this distinguished friend was a powerful support. Besides,
people of rank and distinction naturally exercised a powerful attraction
over him, and he fancied he grew several inches taller when, in some
public place, in the street, or a restaurant, he was able to call out,
"I say, Valorsay, my good friend," or, "Upon my word! my dear marquis!"

M. de Valorsay received these effusions graciously enough, although,
in point of fact, he was terribly bored by the platitudes of his new
acquaintance. He intended to send him to Coventry later on, but just now
M. Wilkie was too useful to be ignored. So he had introduced him to his
club, and was seen with him everywhere--in the Bois, at the restaurants,
and the theatres. At times, some of his friends inquired: "Who is that
queer little fellow?" with a touch of irony in their tone, but when
the marquis carelessly answered: "A poor devil who has just come into
possession of a property worth twenty millions!" they became serious,
and requested the pleasure and honor of an introduction to this
fortunate young man.

So M. de Valorsay had invited Gordon-Chalusse to accompany him to Baron
Trigault's approaching fete. It was to be an entertainment for gentlemen
only, a monster card-party; but every one knew the wealthy baron, and
no doubt with a view of stimulating curiosity he had declared, and
the Figaro had repeated, that he had a great surprise in store for his
guests. Oh! such a surprise! They could have no idea what it was! This
fete was to take place on the second day after Mademoiselle Marguerite's
arrest; and on the appointed evening, between nine and ten o'clock,
M. de Valorsay and his friend Coralth sat together in the former's
smoking-room waiting for Wilkie to call for them, as had been
agreed upon. They were both in the best of spirits. The viscount's
apprehensions had been entirely dispelled; and the marquis had quite
forgotten the twinges of pain in his injured limb. "Marguerite will only
leave prison to marry me," said M. de Valorsay, tri