x months."

At this moment a footman in livery, carrying a leather portmanteau and
coming from the Touchard establishment, where he had gone too late to
secure places as far as Chambly, came up and said:--

"Are you Pierrotin?"

"Say on," replied Pierrotin.

"If you would wait a quarter of an hour, you could take my master.
If not, I'll carry back the portmanteau and try to find some other
conveyance."

"I'll wait two, three quarters, and throw a little in besides, my lad,"
said Pierrotin, eyeing the pretty leather trunk, well buckled, and
bearing a brass plate with a coat of arms.

"Very good; then take this," said the valet, ridding his shoulder of the
trunk, which Pierrotin lifted, weighed, and examined.

"Here," he said to his porter, "wrap it up carefully in soft hay and put
it in the boot. There's no name upon it," he added.

"Monseigneur's arms are there," replied the valet.

"Monseigneur! Come and take a glass," said Pierrotin, nodding toward
the Cafe de l'Echiquier, whither he conducted the valet. "Waiter, two
absinthes!" he said, as he entered. "Who is your master? and where is
he going? I have never seen you before," said Pierrotin to the valet as
they touched glasses.

"There's a good reason for that," said the footman. "My master only
goes into your parts about once a year, and then in his own carriage. He
prefers the valley d'Orge, where he has the most beautiful park in the
neighborhood of Paris, a perfect Versailles, a family estate of which he
bears the name. Don't you know Monsieur Moreau?"

"The steward of Presles?"

"Yes. Monsieur le Comte is going down to spend a couple of days with
him."

"Ha! then I'm to carry Monsieur le Comte de Serizy!" cried the
coach-proprietor.

"Yes, my land, neither more nor less. But listen! here's a special
order. If you have any of the country neighbors in your coach you are
not to call him Monsieur le comte; he wants to travel 'en cognito,' and
told me to be sure to say he would pay a handsome pourboire if he was
not recognized."

"So! Has this secret journey anything to do with the affair which Pere
Leger, the farmer at the Moulineaux, came to Paris the other day to
settle?"

"I don't know," replied the valet, "but the fat's in the fire. Last
night I was sent to the stable to order the Daumont carriage to be ready
to go to Presles at seven this morning. But when seven o'clock came,
Monsieur le comte countermanded it. Augustin, his valet de chambr