“Then have no fear for the advocate,” said her friend, relaxing the piercing gaze he bent on the maiden. Let us accompany Giraud. Donning hat—plain and featherless—tying a black mantle round his throat, and, with cane in hand—for he was a gentleman of the robe, not of the sword, and bore no weapon—he sallied forth, walking with deliberate air, till he reached a gloomy mansion in the _Rue D’Orleans_. The gate or _porte-cochère_ was opened to his knock by the ever ready porter, and he stood beneath the archway. The count had not yet gone abroad, and would doubtless see him—the name was carried to Monseigneur, and the lackey returned to usher the visiter. A spacious staircase of polished chesnut-wood, so slippery that the advocate had much ado to keep footing, led to a vestibule whence doors opened into various chambers. Passing through an ante-chamber into a saloon, he was at length conducted to the library of the _Hôtel De Fontrailles_. The folios stood ranged in goodly rows, but the taste of the noble owner appeared more conspicuously in the abundance of maps, charts, plans of cities, models of European fortresses, and arms and armor. A large gothic arched window at the extremity afforded light to the chamber, and looked over a paved yard in the rear of the _hôtel_. Fontrailles was seated at a table, his back toward the window. Robed in a loose gown, surrounded with papers, books, opened letters, and others tied with tape, among which had been negligently thrown his walking rapier; the courtier and diplomatist was more apparent in the occupation, than the gambler, gallant, and active political intriguer. The count might have attained forty years, perhaps more. The long dark face and prominent features, softened by the shade in which he sat, were far from unpleasing. In repose, the face might be reckoned handsome, certainly dignified. A silent gesture to the advocate to take the seat which the lackey placed at the opposite end of the table, and who, upon doing so, immediately quitted the chamber—left the parties alone. The count waited in silence the business of the visiter, who announced himself as Etienne Giraud, _avocat du parlement_, friend and kinsman of Monsieur De Pontis, confined in the _Conciergerie du Palais_, and engaged in defending him against two suits now before the courts. The count indicated by a slight motion that he was an attentive listener—then added, after a moment’s pause— “I am not ignorant of Monsieur Giraud’s merits, but I believe he has mistaken my _hôtel_ for that of the President Longueil, the third _porte-cochère_ beyond.” “I have the honor to address the Count De Fontrailles?” replied the advocate in a tone of inquiry. “I was at a loss to account for Monsieur connecting me with suits in the courts of parliament!” rejoined the count, smiling, “but I pray him to proceed.”