"Ah! ah! and you have sold the clasp, and the hat with it. Then, my dear friend, you ought to be the richest of us all, and you should have bought another glove; your hands are not alike; one is as white as a woman's, and the other as black as a negro's." "But listen; as I turned to seek my hat I saw an enormous crow seize hold of it." "Of your hat!" "Or rather of the clasp; attracted by the glitter, and in spite of my cries, he flew away with it, and I saw it no more. So that, overwhelmed by this double loss, I did not dare to return home, but came to seek my fortune in Paris." "Good!" cried a third, "the wind has changed into a crow. I heard you tell M. de Loignac that the wind had carried it away while you were reading a letter from your mistress." "Now," cried St. Maline, "I have the honor of knowing M. d'Aubigne, who, though a brave soldier, writes well, and I recommend you to tell him the history of your hat; he will make a charming story of it." Several stifled laughs were heard. "Ah! gentlemen," cried the Gascon, "do you laugh at me?" They turned away to laugh again. Perducas threw a glance around him, and saw a young man near the fireplace hiding his face in his hands. He thought it was to laugh, and, going up to him, struck him on the shoulder, saying-- "Eh! monsieur, if you laugh, at all events show your face." The young man looked up; it was our friend Ernanton de Carmainges. "I beg you will leave me alone," said he, "I was not thinking of you." Pincornay turned away, grumbling; but at this moment an officer entered. "M. de Loignac!" cried twenty voices. At this name, known through all Gascony, every one rose and kept silence. CHAPTER IX. M. DE LOIGNAC. "Supper!" cried M. de Loignac; "and from this moment let all be friends, and love each other like brothers." "Hum!" said St. Maline. "That would be difficult," added Ernanton. "See," cried Pincornay, "they laugh at me because I have no hat, and they say nothing to M. Montcrabeau, who is going to supper in a cuirass of the time of the Emperor Pertinax, from whom it probably came. See what it is to have defensive arms." "Gentlemen," cried Montcrabeau, "I take it off; so much the worse for those who prefer seeing me with offensive instead of defensive arms;" and he gave his cuirass to his lackey, a man about fifty years of age. "Peace! peace!" cried De Loignac, "and let us go to table." Meanwhile the lackey whispered to Pertinax, "And am I not to sup? Let me have something, Pertinax. I am dying of hunger." Pertinax, instead of being offended at this familiar address, replied, "I will try, but you had better see for something for yourself." "Hum! that is not reassuring." "Have you no money?" "We spent our last crown at Sens." "Diable! then try to sell something." A few minutes after a cry was heard in the street of "Old iron! who wants to sell old iron?"