far
from this, the countenance and appearance of the attorney at law struck
the viscount with an undefinable feeling,--half fear, half aversion.
Consequently, his own resolute character made M. de Saint-Remy increase
his usual impertinence and effrontery. The notary kept his cap on his
head, and the viscount did not doff his hat, but exclaimed, as he
entered the room, with a loud and imperative tone:

"_Pardieu_, sir! it is very strange that you should give me the trouble
to come here, instead of sending to my house for the money for the bills
I accepted from the man Badinot, and for which the fellow has issued
execution against me. It is true you tell me that you have also another
very important communication to make to me; but then, surely, that is no
excuse for making me wait for half an hour in your antechamber: it is
really most annoying, sir!"

M. Ferrand, quite unmoved, finished a calculation he was engaged in,
wiped his pen methodically in a moist sponge which encircled his
inkstand of cracked earthenware, and raised towards the viscount his
icy, earthy, flat face, shaded by his spectacles. He looked like a
death's head in which the eye-holes had been replaced by large, fixed,
staring green eyeballs. After having looked at the viscount for a moment
or two, the notary said to him, in a harsh and abrupt tone:

"Where's the money?"

This coolness exasperated M. de Saint-Remy.

He--he, the idol of the women, the envy of the men, the model of the
first society in Paris, the dreaded duellist--produced no effect on a
wretched attorney-at-law! It was horrid; and, although he was only
_tete-a-tete_ with Jacques Ferrand, his pride revolted.

"Where are the bills?" inquired the viscount, abruptly.

With the point of one of his fingers, as hard as iron, and covered with
red hair, the notary rapped on a large leathern pocket-book which lay
close beside him. Resolved on being as laconic, although trembling with
rage, M. de Saint-Remy took from the pocket of his upper coat a Russian
leather pocket-book, with gold clasps, from which he drew forth forty
notes of a thousand francs each, and showed them to the notary.

"How many are there?" he inquired.

"Forty thousand francs."

"Hand them to me!"

"Take them! and let this have a speedy termination. Ply your trade, pay
yourself, and give me the bills," said the viscount, as he threw the
notes on the table, with an impatient air.

The notary took up the bank-notes,