“Your Excellency doesn’t know to what you expose yourself,” said the saucy rapin; “‘facilis descensus victuali,’ as we say at the Black Hen.” “Bridau!” exclaimed the minister, struck by a sudden thought. “Are you any relation to one of the most devoted toilers under the Empire, the head of a bureau, who fell a victim to his zeal?” “His son, monseigneur,” replied Joseph, bowing. “Then you are most welcome here,” said the count, taking Bridau’s hand in both of his. “I knew your father, and you can count on me as on--on an uncle in America,” added the count, laughing. “But you are too young to have pupils of your own; to whom does Mistigris really belong?” “To my friend Schinner, who lent him to me,” said Joseph. “Mistigris’ name is Leon de Lora. Monseigneur, if you knew my father, will you deign to think of his other son, who is now accused of plotting against the State, and is soon to be tried before the Court of Peers?” “Ah! that’s true,” said the count. “Yes, I will think about it, be sure of that. As for Colonel Czerni-Georges, the friend of Ali Pacha, and Mina’s aide-de-camp--” he continued, walking up to Georges. “He! why that’s my second clerk!” cried Crottat. “You are quite mistaken, Maitre Crottat,” said the count, assuming a stern air. “A clerk who intends to be a notary does not leave important deeds in a diligence at the mercy of other travellers; neither does he spend twenty francs between Paris and Moisselles; or expose himself to be arrested as a deserter--” “Monseigneur,” said Georges Marest, “I may have amused myself with the bourgeois in the diligence, but--” “Let his Excellency finish what he was saying,” said the notary, digging his elbow into his clerk’s ribs. “A notary,” continued the count, “ought to practise discretion, shrewdness, caution from the start; he should be incapable of such a blunder as taking a peer of France for a tallow-chandler--” “I am willing to be blamed for my faults,” said Georges; “but I never left my deeds at the mercy of--” “Now you are committing the fault of contradicting the word of a minister of State, a gentleman, an old man, and a client,” said the count. “Give me that deed of sale.” Georges turned over and over the papers in his portfolio. “That will do; don’t disarrange those papers,” said the count, taking the deed from his pocket. “Here is what you are looking for.” Crottat turned the paper back and forth, so astonished was he at receiving it from the hands of his client. “What does this mean, monsieur?” he said, finally, to Georges.