Sarah had scarcely left the notary before M. Charles Robert entered, after alighting from a very dashing cabriolet. He went like a person on most intimate terms to the private room of Jacques Ferrand.
The commandant, as Madame Pipelet called him, entered without ceremony into the notary’s cabinet, whom he found in a surly, bilious mood, and who thus accosted him:
“I reserve the afternoon for my clients; when you wish to speak to me come in the morning, will you?”
“My dear lawyer” (this was a standing pleasantry of M. Robert), “I have a very important matter to talkabout in the first place, and, in the next, I was anxious to assure you in person against any alarms you might have—”
“What alarms?”
“What! Haven’t you heard?”
“What?”
“Of my duel—”
“Your duel?”
“With the Duke de Lucenay
