That morning, before leaving home, he had dressed with extreme care, realizing that the shabby clothes he had worn on his first visit to the Trigault mansion would not be appropriate on such an occasion as this. The baron’s agent could scarcely have a poverty-stricken appearance, for contact with millionaires is supposed to procure wealth as surely as proximity to fire insures warmth. So he arrayed himself in a suit of black, which was neither too elegant nor too much worn, and donned a broad white necktie. He could see only one immediate, decisive chance against him. M. de Valorsay might possibly recognize him. He thought not, but he was not sure; and anxious on this account, he at first decided to disguise himself. However, on reflection, he concluded not to do so. An imperfect disguise would attract attention and awaken suspicion; and could he really disguise his physiognomy? He was certain he could not. Very few men are capable of doing so successfully, even after long experience. Only two or three detectives and half a dozen actors possess the art of really changing their lineaments. Thus after weighing the pros and cons, Pascal determined to present himself as he was at the marquis’s house. On approaching M. de Valorsay’s residence in the Avenue des Champs Elysees, he slackened his pace. The mansion, which stood between a courtyard and a garden, was very large and handsome. The stables and carriage-house--really elegant structures--stood on either side of the courtyard, near the half-open gate of which five or six servants were amusing themselves by teasing a large dog. Pascal was just saying to himself that the coast was clear, and that he should incur no danger by going in, when he saw the servants step aside, the gate swing back, and M. de Coralth emerged, accompanied by a young, fair-haired man, whose mustaches were waxed and turned up in the most audacious fashion. They were arm in arm, and turned in the direction of the Arc de Triomphe. Pascal’s heart thrilled with joy. “Fate favors me!” he said to himself. “If it hadn’t been for Kami-Bey, who detained me a full quarter of an hour at Baron Trigault’s, I should have found myself face to face with that miserable viscount, and then all would have been lost. But now I’m safe!” It was with this encouraging thought that he approached the house. “The marquis is very busy this morning,” said the servant to whom Pascal addressed himself at the gate. “I doubt if he can see you.” But when Pascal handed him one of his visiting cards, bearing the name of Maumejan, with this addition in pencil: “Who calls as the representative of Baron Trigault,” the valet’s face changed as if by enchantment. “Oh!” said he, “that’s quite a different matter. If you come from Baron Trigault, you will be received with all the respect due to the Messiah. Come in. I will announce you myself.”