His back was presented to my sight, but there was no mistaking the slim form and a nonchalant carriage.
Charles Miste again! And only the back of him once more.
"I have had a visit from my late secretary," said the Vicomte, casually, and without looking up from his occupation of opening some letters.

There was no reason to suppose that he had seen me glance towards the closing door, recognising him who went from it.
We were still engaged with the morning's correspondence, when a second visitor was announced, and almost on the heels of the servant a little fat man came puffing into the room, red-faced and agitated.
"Ah! Heaven be thanked that I have found you in," he gasped, and although it was a cold morning, he wiped his pasty brow with a gorgeous silk handkerchief whereupon shone the largest coronet obtainable.
His face was quite white and flaccid, like the unbaked loaves into which I had poked inquiring fingers in my childhood, and there was an unwholesome look of fear in his little bright eyes.

The Baron had been badly scared, and lacked the manhood to conceal his panic.
"Ah! Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!" he gasped again, and looked at me with insolent inquiry.

He was, it must be remembered, a very rich man, and could afford to be ill-mannered.

"I must see you, Vicomte." "You do see me, my friend," replied the old nobleman, in his most amiable manner.