turf, women, told all sorts of disagreeable stories about the morals of their masters, and then, becoming excited by the fumes of the wine, began on politics. William was a superbly uncompromising and terribly violent reactionary. "The man for me," he cried, "is Cassagnac. A rude lad, Cassagnac! They are afraid of him. How he can write! What raps he gives! Yes, let the dirty rascals tackle this strenuous chap if they dare!" And suddenly, at the height of the noise, Eugénie rose, paler and with shining eyes, and rushed for the door. The little one entered, his face wearing an expression of astonishment at sight of these unusual people, of these empty bottles, of this reckless pillage of the table. Eugénie had saved a glass of champagne and a plate of goodies for him. Then they both disappeared into the adjoining room. "Oh! your little phiz, your little mouth, your big eyes!" That night the parents' basket contained larger and better portions. Of course these worthy people should profit by the feast. William often spoke to me of Edgar, the celebrated stud-groom of the baron de Borgsheim. He was proud to know him; he admired him almost as much as he admired Cassagnac. Edgar and Cassagnac were the two great enthusiasms of his life. I think it would have been dangerous to joke him about them, or even to discuss them with him. When he came home at night, late, William excused himself by saying to me, "I was with Edgar." It seemed that to be with Edgar constituted not only an excuse, but a glory. "Why don't you bring your famous Edgar to dinner, that I may see him?" I asked of him one day. William was scandalized at this idea, and he declared, loftily: "What! do you imagine that Edgar would dine with simple servants?" It was from Edgar that William got his incomparable method of polishing his hats. Once, at the Auteuil races, Edgar was approached by the young marquis de Plérin. "Say, my lad," begged the marquis, "how do you get your hats?" "My hats, Monsieur the Marquis?" responded Edgar, highly flattered, for the young Plérin, a robber at the races and a trickster at the gaming-table, was then one of the most famous personalities of Parisian society. "It is very simple; only it is like picking the winner,--you must know how. Well, this is the trick. Every morning I make my _valet de chambre_ run for a quarter of an hour. He sweats, of course. And the sweat contains oil. Then, with a very fine silk handkerchief, he wipes the sweat from his brow, and rubs my hats with it. A stroke or two with the iron finishes the job. But it takes a clean and healthy man, preferably a man with nut-brown complexion,--for some blondes smell strong, and all sweats are not suitable. Last year I gave the receipt to the prince of Wales." And, as the young marquis de Plérin thanked Edgar and slyly shook his hand, the latter added, confidently: "Take Baladeur at seven to one. He is to be the winner, Monsieur the Marquis."