Hotel de Mussidan, the last _chef d'oeuvre_ of Sevair, that skilful
architect who died just as the world was beginning to recognize his
talents. With a spacious courtyard in front and a magnificent garden in
the rear, the Hotel de Mussidan is as elegant as it is commodious.
The exterior was extremely plain, and not disfigured by florid
ornamentation. White marble steps, with a light and elegant railing at
the sides, lead to the wide doors which open into the hall. The busy hum
of the servants at work at an early hour in the yard tells that an ample
establishment is kept up. There can be seen luxurious carriages, for
occasions of ceremony, and the park phaeton, and the simple brougham
which the Countess uses when she goes out shopping; and that carefully
groomed thoroughbred is Mirette, the favorite riding horse of
Mademoiselle Sabine. Mascarin and his confederate descended from their
cab a little distance at the corner of the Avenue Matignon. Mascarin, in
his dark suit, with his spotless white cravat and glittering spectacles,
looked like some highly respectable functionary of State. Hortebise wore
his usual smile, though his cheek was pale.

"Now," remarked Mascarin, "let me see,--on what footing do you stand
with the Mussidans? Do they look upon you as a friend?"

"No, no; a poor doctor, whose ancestors were not among the Crusades,
could not be the intimate friend of such haughty nobles as the
Mussidans."

"But the Countess knows you, and will not refuse to receive you, nor
have you turned out as soon as you begin to speak; for, taking shelter
behind some rogue without a name, you can shelter your own reputation. I
will see the Count."