"Mistigris, 'ars est celare bonum,'" said his master.

"I thank you very much, monsieur," said the count to Mistigris's master,
next to whom he now sat.

The minister of State cast a sagacious glance round the interior of the
coach, which greatly affronted both Oscar and Georges.

"When persons want to be master of a coach, they should engage all the
places," remarked Georges.

Certain now of his incognito, the Comte de Serizy made no reply to this
observation, but assumed the air of a good-natured bourgeois.

"Suppose you were late, wouldn't you be glad that the coach waited for
you?" said the farmer to the two young men.

Pierrotin still looked up and down the street, whip in hand, apparently
reluctant to mount to the hard seat where Mistigris was fidgeting.

"If you expect some one else, I am not the last," said the count.

"I agree to that reasoning," said Mistigris.

Georges and Oscar began to laugh impertinently.

"The old fellow doesn't know much," whispered Georges to Oscar, who was
delighted at this apparent union between himself and the object of his
envy.

"Parbleu!" cried Pierrotin, "I shouldn't be sorry for two more
passengers."

"I haven't paid; I'll get out," said Georges, alarmed.

"What are you waiting for, Pierrotin?" asked Pere Leger.

Whereupon Pierrotin shouted a certain "Hi!" in which Bichette and
Rougeot recognized a definitive resolution, and they both sprang toward
the rise of the faubourg at a pace which was soon to slacken.

The count had a red face, of a burning red all over, on which were
certain inflamed portions which his snow-white hair brought out into
full relief. To any but heedless youths, this complexion would have
revealed a constant inflammation of the blood, produced by incessant
labor. These blotches and pimples so injured the naturally noble air of
the count that careful examination was needed to find in his green-gray
eyes the shrewdness of the magistrate, the wisdom of a statesman, and
the knowledge of a legislator. His face was flat, and the nose seemed
to have been depressed into it. The hat hid the grace and beauty of his
forehead. In short, there was enough to amuse those thoughtless youths
in the odd contrasts of the silvery hair, the burning face, and the
thick, tufted eye-brows which were still jet-black.

The count wore a long blue overcoat, buttoned in military fashion to the
throat, a white cravat around his neck, cotton wool in his ears, and a
shi