"No, thank you, I prefer walking."

"Adieu, then. And mind you remember the /soiree dansante/ at Mrs.
Avenel's." Randal mechanically shook the hand extended to him, and went
down the stairs.

The fresh frosty air roused his intellectual faculties, which Levy's
ominous words had almost paralyzed.

And the first thing the clever schemer said to himself was this,

"But what can be the man's motive in what he said to me?"

The next was,--

"Egerton ruined! What am I, then?" And the third was,

"And that fair remnant of the old Leslie property! L20,000 down--how to
get the sum? Why should Levy have spoken to me of this?"

And lastly, the soliloquy rounded back--"The man's motives! His
motives!"

Meanwhile, the baron threw himself into his chariot--the most
comfortable, easy chariot you can possibly conceive, single man's
chariot, perfect taste,--no married man ever had such a chariot; and in a
few minutes he was at ---------'s hotel, and in the presence of Giulio
Franzini, Count di Peschiera.