“Nothing,” cried the general.  “When did you ever know a woman punctual, my lad?  If we wait for your mother—­and she’s such a rabid aristocrat that she would never forgive us for not waiting—­we shan’t sign the contract yet this half-hour.  Never mind! let’s go on with what we were talking about.  Where the devil was I when that cursed clock struck and interrupted us?  Now then, Black Eyes, what’s the matter?”

This last question was addressed to Mademoiselle Berthelin, who at that moment hastily entered the library from the drawing-room.  She was a tall and rather masculine-looking girl, with superb black eyes, dark hair growing low on her forehead, and something of her father’s decision and bluntness in her manner of speaking.

“A stranger in the other room, papa, who wants to see you.  I suppose the servants showed him upstairs, thinking he was one of the guests.  Ought I to have had him shown down again?”

“A nice question!  How should I know?  Wait till I have seen him, miss, and then I’ll tell you!” With these words the general turned on his heel, and went into the drawing-room.

His daughter would have followed him, but Danville caught her by the hand.

“Can you be hard-hearted enough to leave me here alone?” he asked.

“What is to become of all my bosom friends in the next room, you selfish man, if I stop here with you?” retorted mademoiselle, struggling to free herself.

“Call them in here,” said Danville gayly, making himself master of her other hand.

She laughed, and drew him away toward the drawing-room.

“Come,” she cried, “and let all the ladies see what a tyrant I am going to marry.  Come, and show them what an obstinate, unreasonable, wearisome—­”

Her voice suddenly failed her; she shuddered, and turned faint.  Danville’s hand had in one instant grown cold as death in hers; the momentary touch of his fingers, as she felt their grasp loosen, struck some mysterious chill through her from head to foot.  She glanced round at him affrightedly, and saw his eyes looking straight into the drawing-room.  They were fixed in a strange, unwavering, awful stare, while, from the rest of his face, all expression, all character, all recognizable play and movement of feature, had utterly gone.  It was a breathless, lifeless mask—­a white blank.  With a cry of terror, she looked where he seemed to be looking; and could see nothing but the stranger standing in the middle of the drawing-room.  Before she could ask a question—­before she could speak even a single word—­her father came to her, caught Danville by the arm, and pushed her roughly back into the library.

“Go there, and take the women with you,” he said, in a quick, fierce whisper.  “Into the library!” he continued, turning to the ladies, and raising his voice.  “Into the library, all of you, along with my daughter.”

The women, terrified by his manner, obeyed him in the greatest confusion.  As they hurried past him into the library, he signed to the notary to follow; and then closed the door of communication between the two rooms.