I wondered why he was quitting the Vicomte's service.

Such was my first sight of Charles Miste, and my first knowledge of his existence.
The Vicomte had returned to his room, closing the door behind him, upon which mademoiselle now tapped lightly.
"Father," I heard her say as she entered, "a gentleman wishes to see you." As I passed her, I caught the scent of some violets she wore in her dress, and the spring-like freshness of the odour seemed a part of herself.
The Vicomte received me so graciously that he and not I might have been the applicant for a situation.

Bowing, he peered at me with short-sighted eyes.
"The English gentleman of yesterday," he said, indicating a chair.
"I took you at your word, Monsieur," I replied, "and now apply for the post of secretary." Taking the chair he placed at my disposal, I awaited his further pleasure.

He had seated himself at the writing-table, and was fingering a pen with thoughtfulness or perhaps hesitation.

The table, I noticed, was bare of the litter which usually cumbers the desk of a busy man.