s I was by my academical past, my
reputation for politeness, and great knowledge of the world. My fine
presence did the rest, for it must be said that I know how to go into a
room. M. Noel, in a dress-coat, very dark skinned and with mutton-chop
whiskers, came forward to meet us.

"You are welcome, M. Passajon," said he, and taking my cap with silver
galloons which, according to the fashion, I had kept in my right hand
while making my entry, he gave it to a gigantic negro in red and gold
livery.

"Here, Lakdar, hang that up--and that," he added by way of a joke,
giving him a kick in a certain region of the back.

There was much laughter at this sally, and we began to chat together
in very friendly fashion. An excellent fellow, this M. Noel, with his
accent of the Midi, his pronounced style of dress, the smoothness and
the simplicity of his manners. He reminded me of the Nabob, without
his distinction, however. I noticed, moreover, that evening, that these
resemblances are frequently to be observed in _valets de chambre_ who,
living in the intimacy of their masters, by whom they are always a
little dazzled, end by acquiring their manners and habits. Thus, M.
Francis has a certain way of straightening his body when displaying his
linen-front, a mania for raising his arms in order to pull his cuffs
down--it is Monpavon to a T. Now one, for instance, who bears no
resemblance to his master is Joey, the coachman of Dr. Jenkins. I call
him Joey, but at the party every one called him Jenkins; for, in that
world, the stable folk among themselves give to each other the names
of their masters, call each other Bois l'Hery, Monpavon, and Jenkins,
without ceremony. Is it in order to degrade their superiors, to raise
the status of menials? Every country has its customs; it is only a fool
who will be surprised by them. To return to Joey Jenkins, how can the
doctor, affable as he is, so polished in every particular, keep in his
service that brute, bloated with _porter_ and _gin_, who will remain
silent for hours at a time, then, at the first mounting of liquor to
his head, begins to howl and to wish to fight everybody, as witness the
scandalous scene which had just occurred when we entered?

The marquis's little groom, Tom Bois l'Hery, as they call him here, had
desired to have a jest with this uncouth creature of an Irishman, who
had replied to a bit of Parisian urchin's banter with a terrible Belfast
blow of his fist right in the