“How it refreshes the blood to be avenged upon two fools,” said he to himself, descending from his cab and inquiring at the door of the Moorish house. “Monsieur Maitland?” he asked the footman, who at one blow dissipated his excitement by replying with this simple phrase, the only one of which he had not thought in his frenzy: “Monsieur is not at home.” “He will be at home to me,” replied Boleslas. “I have an appointment with Madame and Mademoiselle Steno, who are awaiting me.” “Monsieur’s orders are strict,” replied the servant. Accustomed, as are all servants entrusted with the defence of an artist’s work, to a certain rigor of orders, he yet hesitated, in the face of the untruth which Gorka had invented on the spur of the moment, and he was about to yield to his importunity when some one appeared on the staircase of the hall. That some one was none other than Florent Chapron. Chance decreed that the latter should send for a carriage in which to go to lunch, and that the carriage should be late. At the sound of wheels stopping at the door, he looked out of one of the windows of his apartment, which faced the street. He saw Gorka alight. Such a visit, at such an hour, with the persons who were in the atelier, seemed to him so dangerous that he ran downstairs immediately. He took up his hat and his cane, to justify his presence in the hall by the very natural excuse that he was going out. He reached the middle of the staircase just in time to stop the servant, who had decided to “go and see,” and, bowing to Boleslas with more formality than usual: “My brother-in-law is not there, Monsieur,” said he; and he added, turning to the footman, in order to dispose of him in case an altercation should arise between the importunate visitor and himself, “Nero, fetch me a handkerchief from my room. I have forgotten mine.” “That order could not be meant for me, Monsieur,” insisted Boleslas. “Monsieur Maitland has made an appointment with me, with Madame Steno, in order to show us Alba’s portrait.” “It is no order,” replied Florent. “I repeat to you that my brother-in-law has gone out. The studio is closed, and it is impossible for me to undertake to open it to show you the picture, since I have not the key. As for Madame and Mademoiselle Steno, they have not been here for several days; the sittings have been interrupted.” “What is still more extraordinary, Monsieur,” replied the other, “is that I saw them with my own eyes, five minutes ago, enter this house and I, too, saw their carriage drive away.”.... He felt his anger increase and direct itself altogether against the watch-dog so suddenly raised upon the threshold of his rival’s house.