be Frayssinous is
constantly at our house."

"Ah! you know the Abbe Frayssinous?" asked the count.

"He is under obligations to my father," answered Oscar.

"Are you on your way to your estate?" asked Georges.

"No, monsieur; but I am able to say where I am going, if others are not.
I am going to the Chateau de Presles, to the Comte de Serizy."

"The devil! are you going to Presles?" cried Schinner, turning as red as
a cherry.

"So you know his Excellency the Comte de Serizy?" said Georges.

Pere Leger turned round to look at Oscar with a stupefied air.

"Is Monsieur de Serizy at Presles?" he said.

"Apparently, as I am going there," replied Oscar.

"Do you often see the count," asked Monsieur de Serizy.

"Often," replied Oscar. "I am a comrade of his son, who is about my age,
nineteen; we ride together on horseback nearly every day."

"'Aut Caesar, aut Serizy,'" said Mistigris, sententiously.

Pierrotin and Pere Leger exchanged winks on hearing this statement.

"Really," said the count to Oscar, "I am delighted to meet with a young
man who can tell me about that personage. I want his influence on a
rather serious matter, although it would cost him nothing to oblige me.
It concerns a claim I wish to press on the American government. I should
be glad to obtain information about Monsieur de Serizy."

"Oh! if you want to succeed," replied Oscar, with a knowing look, "don't
go to him, but go to his wife; he is madly in love with her; no one
knows more than I do about that; but she can't endure him."

"Why not?" said Georges.

"The count has a skin disease which makes him hideous. Doctor Albert has
tried in vain to cure it. The count would give half his fortune if he
had a chest like mine," said Oscar, swelling himself out. "He lives
a lonely life in his own house; gets up very early in the morning
and works from three to eight o'clock; after eight he takes his
remedies,--sulphur-baths, steam-baths, and such things. His valet bakes
him in a sort of iron box--for he is always in hopes of getting cured."

"If he is such a friend of the King as they say he is, why doesn't he
get his Majesty to touch him?" asked Georges.

"The count has lately promised thirty thousand francs to a celebrated
Scotch doctor who is coming over to treat him," continued Oscar.

"Then his wife can't be blamed if she finds better--" said Schinner, but
he did not finish his sentence.

"I should say so!" resumed Oscar. "The poor ma