ng?" asked the count, drawing Pierrotin
into the inn-yard.

"To your steward. He is the son of a poor lady who lives in the rue de
la Cerisaie, to whom I often carry fruit, and game, and poultry from
Presles. She is a Madame Husson."

"Who is that man?" inquired Pere Leger of Pierrotin when the count had
left him.

"Faith, I don't know," replied Pierrotin; "this is the first time I
have driven him. I shouldn't be surprised if he was that prince who owns
Maffliers. He has just told me to leave him on the road near there; he
doesn't want to go on to Isle-Adam."

"Pierrotin thinks he is the master of Maffliers," said Pere Leger,
addressing Georges when he got back into the coach.

The three young fellows were now as dull as thieves caught in the act;
they dared not look at each other, and were evidently considering the
consequences of their fibs.

"This is what is called 'suffering for license sake,'" said Mistigris.

"You see I did know the count," said Oscar.

"Possibly. But you'll never be an ambassador," replied Georges. "When
people want to talk in public conveyances, they ought to be careful,
like me, to talk without saying anything."

"That's what speech is for," remarked Mistigris, by way of conclusion.

The count returned to his seat and the coucou rolled on amid the deepest
silence.

"Well, my friends," said the count, when they reached the Carreau woods,
"here we all are, as silent as if we were going to the scaffold."

"'Silence gives content,'" muttered Mistigris.

"The weather is fine," said Georges.

"What place is that?" said Oscar, pointing to the chateau de
Franconville, which produces a fine effect at that particular spot,
backed, as it is, by the noble forest of Saint-Martin.

"How is it," cried the count, "that you, who say you go so often to
Presles, do not know Franconville?"

"Monsieur knows men, not castles," said Mistigris.

"Budding diplomatists have so much else to take their minds," remarked
Georges.

"Be so good as to remember my name," replied Oscar, furious. "I am Oscar
Husson, and ten years hence I shall be famous."

After that speech, uttered with bombastic assumption, Oscar flung
himself back in his corner.

"Husson of what, of where?" asked Mistigris.

"It is a great family," replied the count. "Husson de la Cerisaie;
monsieur was born beneath the steps of the Imperial throne."

Oscar colored crimson to the roots of his hair, and was penetrated
through and th