“If I had not taken it,” said the count, “Pere Leger,--who is by no means such a ninny as you thought him from his questions about agriculture, by which he showed that he attended to his own business,--Pere Leger might have seized that paper and guessed my purpose. You must give me the pleasure of dining with me, but one on condition,--that of describing, as you promised, the execution of the Muslim of Smyrna, and you must also finish the memoirs of some client which you have certainly read to be so well informed.” “Schlague for blague!” said Leon de Lora, in a whisper, to Joseph Bridau. “Gentlemen,” said the count to the two notaries and Messieurs Margueron and de Reybert, “let us go into the next room and conclude this business before dinner, because, as my friend Mistigris would say: ‘Qui esurit constentit.’” “Well, he is very good-natured,” said Leon de Lora to Georges Marest, when the count had left the room. “Yes, HE may be, but my master isn’t,” said Georges, “and he will request me to go and blaguer somewhere else.” “Never mind, you like travel,” said Bridau. “What a dressing that boy will get from Monsieur and Madame Moreau!” cried Mistigris. “Little idiot!” said Georges. “If it hadn’t been for him the count would have been amused. Well, anyhow, the lesson is a good one; and if ever again I am caught bragging in a public coach--” “It is a stupid thing to do,” said Joseph Bridau. “And common,” added Mistigris. “‘Vulgarity is the brother of pretension.’” While the matter of the sale was being settled between Monsieur Margueron and the Comte de Serizy, assisted by their respective notaries in presence of Monsieur de Reybert, the ex-steward walked with slow steps to his own house. There he entered the salon and sat down without noticing anything. Little Husson, who was present, slipped into a corner, out of sight, so much did the livid face of his mother’s friend alarm him. “Eh! my friend!” said Estelle, coming into the room, somewhat tired with what she had been doing. “What is the matter?” “My dear, we are lost,--lost beyond recovery. I am no longer steward of Presles, no longer in the count’s confidence.” “Why not?” “Pere Leger, who was in Pierrotin’s coach, told the count all about the affair of Les Moulineaux. But that is not the thing that has cost me his favor.” “What then?” “Oscar spoke ill of the countess, and he told about the count’s diseases.” “Oscar!” cried Madame Moreau. “Ah! my dear, your sin has found you out. It was well worth while to warm that young serpent in your bosom. How often I have told you--” “Enough!” said Moreau, in a strained voice.