women to be spared suspicion, nor of the good deed to be accomplished.
He saw all his old friends and their talent for fighting, the thrusts of
this one, the way another had of striking, the composure of a third, and
then this refrain interrupted constantly his warlike anecdotes: "But why
the deuce has Gorka chosen that Hafner for his second?.... It is
incomprehensible.".... On entering the carriage which was to bear them
to their interview, he heard Dorsenne say to the coachman: "Palais
Savorelli."

"That is the final blow," said he, raising his arm and clenching his
fist. "The adventurer occupies the Pretender's house, the house of the
Stuarts.".... He repeated: "The house of the Stuarts!" and then lapsed
into a silence which the writer felt to be laden with more storminess
than his last denunciation. He did not emerge from his meditations until
ushered into the salon of the ci-devant jeweller, now a grand seigneur--
into one of the salons, rather, for there were five. There Montfanon
began to examine everything around him, with an air of such contempt and
pride that, notwithstanding his anxiety, Dorsenne could not resist
laughing and teasing him by saying:

"You will not pretend to say that there are no pretty things here? These
two paintings by Moroni, for example?"

"Nothing that is appropriate," replied Montfanon. "Yes, they are two
magnificent portraits of ancestors, and this man has no ancestors!....
There are some weapons in that cupboard, and he has never touched a
sword! And there is a piece of tapestry representing the miracles of the
loaves, which is a piece of audacity! You may not believe me, Dorsenne,
but it is making me ill to be here.... I am reminded of the human toil,
of the human soul in all these objects, and to end here, paid for how?