No one was there. He
waited nearly half-an-hour, looking in the face of every one who
passed or loitered near the spot; he even visited the neighbouring
corners of the Boulevard and made a complete circuit of the garden
railings; but there was no beautiful countess to throw herself into
his arms. At last, and most reluctantly, he began to retrace his
steps towards his hotel. On the way he remembered the words he had
heard pass between Madame Zephyrine and the blond young man, and
they gave him an indefinite uneasiness.
"It appears," he reflected, "that every one has to tell lies to our
porter."
He rang the bell, the door opened before him, and the porter in his
bed-clothes came to offer him a light.
"Has he gone?" inquired the porter.
"He? Whom do you mean?" asked Silas, somewhat sharply, for he was
irritated by his disappointment.
"I did not notice him go out," continued the porter, "but I trust
you paid him. We do not care, in this house, to have lodgers who
cannot meet their liabilities."
"What the devil do you mean?" demanded Silas rudely. "I cannot
understand a word of this farrago."
"The short blond young man who came for his debt," returned the
other. "Him it is I mean. Who else should it be, when I had your
orders to admit no one else?"
"Why, good God, of course he never came," retorted Silas.
"I believe what I believe," returned the porter, putting his tongue
into his cheek with a most roguish air.
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