"Apparently it is because I have a right to do so," responded the Gascon, entering with an impertinent manner; then, striding across the garden, he went immediately into the dining-room and threw himself on a seat, saying,-- "Has my friend, the marquis, been here since yesterday?" "Your friend, the marquis," answered Marcel, opening his eyes wide. "Why, yes, caitiff! Or the marquis, my friend, if that pleases you better." "Nobody has been here." "And has he sent nothing for me?" "Nothing." "I must wait for him then. Serve supper quickly for me, all that you have of the best, some of your oldest wines, some liqueur. Come! go about it, in place of standing and looking at me like a statue." "But what the devil is the matter with you?" "Marcel, no reflections, I beg of you, and, if you wish to keep your place, render yourself worthy of my protection." Marcel contented himself with smiling, then he laid the table and served the supper. Chaudoreille placed himself at table, Marcel did likewise. "Your conduct is a little familiar," said the chevalier to him; "but, as we are alone, I may as well allow you to seat yourself near me--" "That's very fortunate." "On condition that you serve me first, always." During supper, Chaudoreille chinked his money, counted his crowns, calculated what remained to him, and what he expected to receive. Marcel looked at him with surprise, saying,-- "Have you inherited some money?" "Yes, I inherit like that very often. Zounds! if the marquis keeps his word with me, I shall be able to keep the pace." The supper lasted long; Chaudoreille was so much preoccupied by his affairs that he did not dream of playing; however, midnight had struck, he had received no message from the marquis, and the chevalier's hopes began to vanish. He sighed, listened and exclaimed,-- "He doesn't come! If he should not have found her charming that would be very difficult for me. Zounds! in place of a hundred pistoles I should receive a hundred blows of a stick." As his hope diminished, his impertinence became tempered and he clinked his glass against Marcel's, saying,-- "To your health my dear and true friend, for you are my friend. Don't talk to me about noblemen of the court, no one can put any faith in them; my good Marcel, what a good cook he is and what a pleasure it is to me to drink with him." "You don't think now that I did so ill in seating myself at the table?" "What! was I so unlucky as to say that to you?" "Certainly." "Me,--could I have said such a stupid thing?" "Yes, there is no doubt of it." "I was tipsy then, I'd lost my senses." "I don't know what you had lost, but you said it." "Listen, Marcel! when I say such things as that to you, I give you permission to curse me." "That's all right, we'll speak no more of it." At that moment the bell of the gate was heard. Chaudoreille uttered an exclamation, half rose, and dropped on his chair again.