These acts of valor had
raised him considerably in the estimation of his friends, and
procured him a celebrity of which he was not a little proud. The
newspaper reporters were constantly mentioning his name, and the
sporting journals never failed to chronicle his departure from
Paris or his arrival in the city.
Unfortunately, such a life of busy idleness has its trials and its
vicissitudes, and M. de Valorsay was a living proof of this. He
was only thirty-three, but in spite of the care he expended upon
his toilette, he looked at least forty. Wrinkles were beginning
to show themselves; it required all the skill of his valet to
conceal the bald spots on his cranium; and since his fall from his
horse, he had been troubled by a slight stiffness in his right
leg, which stiffness became perfect lameness in threatening
weather. Premature lassitude pervaded his entire person, and when
he relaxed in vigilance even his eyes betrayed a distaste for
everything--weariness, satiety as it were. All the same, however,
he bore himself with an undeniable air of distinction, albeit the
haughtiness of his manner indicated an exaggerated idea of his own
importance. He was indeed in the habit of treating all those whom
he considered his inferiors with supercilious sufficiency.
The clock on M. Fortunat's mantel-shelf struck eleven at last and
the marquis rose to his feet with a muttered oath. "This is too
much!" he growled, angrily.
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