Germaine sat down on a chair.

Sonia put her hands on the back of a couch, and leaned forward, watching him.
Firmin stood by the door, whither he had retired to be out of the reach of his excited master, with a look of perplexity on his stolid face.
They all watched the Duke with the air of people waiting for an oracle to deliver its message.

The millionaire kept mopping the beads of anguish from his brow.

The more he thought of his impending loss, the more freely he perspired.

Germaine's maid, Irma, came to the door leading into the outer hall, which Firmin, according to his usual custom, had left open, and peered in wonder at the silent group.
"I have it!" cried the Duke at last.