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, triumphantly; and he added: “What a willing tool this Wilkie is! A single word sufficed to make him give all his servants leave of absence. The Hotel de Chalusse will be deserted, and Madame Leon and Vantrasson can operate at their leisure.” It was ten o’clock when M. Wilkie made his appearance. “Come, my good friends!” said he, “my carriage is below.” They started off at once, and five minutes later they were ushered into the presence of Baron Trigault, who received M. Wilkie as if he had never seen him before. There was quite a crowd already. At least three or four hundred people had assembled in the Baron’s reception-rooms, and among them were several former habitues of Madame d’Argeles’s house; one could also espy M. de Fondege ferociously twirling his mustaches as usual, together with Kami-Bey, who was conspicuous by reason of his portly form and eternal red fez. However, among these men, all noticeable for their studied elegance of attire and manner, and all of them known to M. de Valorsay, there moved numerous others of very different appearance. Their waistcoats were less open, and their clothes did not fit them as perfectly; on the other hand, there was something else than a look of idiotic self-complacency on their faces. “Who can these people be?” whispered the marquis to M. de Coralth. “They look like lawyers or magistrates.” But although he said this he did not really believe it, and it was without the slightest feeling of anxiety that he strolled from group to group, shaking hands with his friends and introducing M. Wilkie.