room of hers, which exhaled odors suggestive of being in a church,
spoke as plainly as words could of the iron hand, the austere mode of
existence, that weighed her down. There was nothing suggestive of her
own personality in that ancient abode, black with the damps of years. It
was Muffat who made himself felt there, who dominated his surroundings
with his devotional training, his penances and his fasts. But the sight
of the little old gentleman with the black teeth and subtle smile
whom he suddenly discovered in his armchair behind the group of ladies
afforded him a yet more decisive argument. He knew the personage. It
was Theophile Venot, a retired lawyer who had made a specialty of church
cases. He had left off practice with a handsome fortune and was now
leading a sufficiently mysterious existence, for he was received
everywhere, treated with great deference and even somewhat feared,
as though he had been the representative of a mighty force, an occult
power, which was felt to be at his back. Nevertheless, his behavior was
very humble. He was churchwarden at the Madeleine Church and had
simply accepted the post of deputy mayor at the town house of the Ninth
Arrondissement in order, as he said, to have something to do in his
leisure time. Deuce take it, the countess was well guarded; there was
nothing to be done in that quarter.

"You're right, it's enough to make one kick the bucket here," said
Fauchery to his cousin when he had made good his escape from the circle
of ladies. "We'll hook it!"

But Steiner, deserted at last by the Count Muffat and the deputy,
came up in a fury. Drops of perspiration stood on his forehead, and he
grumbled huskily:

"Gad! Let 'em tell me nothing, if nothing they want to tell me. I shall