To such eyes of
passers-by as looked in, from the inferno of driving crowds and gleaming
weapons which prevailed outside--and not outside only, but throughout
Paris--the brilliant room and the laid table must have seemed strange
indeed!
To Tignonville, all that had happened, all that was happening, seemed a
dream: a dream his entrance under the gentle impulsion of this man who
dominated him; a dream Mademoiselle standing behind the table with
blanched face and stony eyes; a dream the cowering servants huddled in a
corner beyond her; a dream his silence, her silence, the moment of
waiting before Count Hannibal spoke.
When he did speak it was to count the servants. "One, two, three, four,
five," he said. "And two of them women. Mademoiselle is but poorly
attended. Are there not"--and he turned to her--"some lacking?"
The girl opened her lips twice, but no sound issued. The third time--
"Two went out," she muttered in a hoarse, strangled voice, "and have not
returned."
"And have not returned?" he answered, raising his eyebrows. "Then I fear
we must not wait for them. We might wait long!" And turning sharply to
the panic-stricken servants, "Go you to your places! Do you not see that
Mademoiselle waits to be served?"
The girl shuddered and spoke.
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