To reconcile his desire of obliging the Marquis with his word already given, the baron had recourse to a singular compromise: "Our votes are secret; from what I know of Sphex and Flachsinfingen, otherwise good partisans of the princes"--said he to himself--"both of them will undoubtedly vote against this poor Létorière, especially after the affront he has offered to the savant and the councillor's wife. Thus their hostility assures the triumph of the party opposed to the Marquis. Now, provided that the German princes gain, and thus justice be done, what matters it whether it is owing to a unanimous vote, or a majority of two voices against one? I desire only to be able, without being unjust, to send this poor Marquis away with soft words and a proof of my friendship; for I should never have the courage to say _No_ to so brave a huntsman and so jovial a companion." This resolution taken, the governor awaited with impatience the waking of his guest, and announced to him, that having reflected all night on his lawsuit, his opinion was modified, and that he would promise to vote for him. Létorière, having thanked the baron a thousand times, returned to Vienna. Notwithstanding what he had told the governor, he had as yet seen neither the councillor Sphex, nor the wife of the councillor Flachsinfingen. CHAPTER XIII DOCTOR SPHEX Doctor Aloysius Sphex lived in a very retired house, at the end of one of the faubourgs of Vienna. Heavy bars protected all the windows; thick plates of iron strengthened a low and narrow door, secured by a strong lock. One had to pass boldly between two enormous mountain-dogs, chained behind the door, in order to reach a little interior court, where grass was growing, and which led to the kitchen. In this cold and gloomy place the doctor's old housekeeper was to be seen crouching near two expiring brands. On the first floor the doctor had a large library, dusty and in disorder, encumbered with large folios, which seemed not to have been opened for a long time. A high window, with small panes of glass set in leaden sashes, and half hidden by a curtain of old tapestry, admitted a doubtful and dingy daylight. A vast chimney, with twisted stone columns and a sculptured mantle-piece, had been transformed into a part of the library; for the doctor never had a fire lighted, for fear of burning his books. In order to guard himself against the sharp cold of the autumn, the councillor had conceived the idea of shutting himself up in an old sedan-chair, which had been placed in the middle of his study; closing its glasses, he found himself comfortably established to read and write. Doctor Sphex, a little, thin, stooping old man, with thick eyebrows, piercing eyes, a caustic smile, projecting lower jaw, high-cheek bones and wrinkled skin, had a singularly sardonic and malignant countenance. When his old inlaid clock struck two, the councillor came out of his sedan-chair, with almost automatic precision.