“And now, friend François,” he said, “you are going to explain to me some of your words which I did not quite understand.” “I am not surprised at that,” replied François, leaning back in his chair with an air of conceited impertinence, “we attendants on fashionable lords learn to speak court language, which everyone of course does not understand.” “Perhaps not, but if you explain it to your friends, they may possibly understand.” “Quite so! ask what you like and I will answer.” “I look to your doing so the more, that I will undertake to supply you with what will help to loosen your tongue. First, let me ask, why do you call yourself a _grey-coat_? I thought _grey-coat_ another name for a jack-ass.” “Jack-ass yourself, friend Thibault,” said François, laughing at the shoe-maker’s ignorance. “No, a _grey-coat_ is a liveried servant, who puts on a grey overall to hide his livery, while he stands sentinel behind a pillar, or mounts guard inside a doorway.” “So you mean that at this moment then, my good François, you are on sentry go? And who is coming to relieve you?” “Champagne, who is in the Comtesse de Mont-Gobert’s service.” “I see; I understand exactly. Your master, the Lord of Vauparfond, is in love with the Comtesse de Mont-Gobert, and you are now awaiting a letter which Champagne is to bring from the lady.” “_Optimé!_ as the tutor to Monsieur Raoul’s young brother says.” “My Lord Raoul is a lucky fellow!” “Yes indeed,” said François, drawing himself up. “And what a beautiful creature the Countess is!” “You know her then?” “I have seen her out hunting with his Highness the Duke of Orleans and Madame de Montesson.” Thibault in speaking had said _out hunting_. “My friend, let me tell you that in society we do not say _hunting_ and _shooting_, but _huntin’_ and _shootin’_.” “Oh!” said Thibault, “I am not so particular to a letter as all that. To the health of my Lord Raoul!” As François put down his glass on the table, he uttered an exclamation; he had that moment caught sight of Champagne. They threw open the window and called to this third comer, and Champagne, with all the ready intuition of the well-bred servant, understood at once, and went upstairs. He was dressed, like François, in a long grey coat, and had brought a letter with him. “Well,” asked François, as he caught sight of the letter in his hand, “and is there to be a meeting to-night?” “Yes,” answered Champagne, with evident delight. “That’s all right,” said François cheerfully. Thibault was surprised at these expressions of apparent sympathy on the part of the servants with their master’s happiness. “Is it your master’s good luck that you are so pleased about?” he asked of François. “Oh, dear me no!” replied the latter, “but when my master is engaged, I am at liberty!” “And do you make use of your liberty?”