urse."

The scamp rose with a bow.

"Well, I have not the word of a gentleman to offer you, but I give you
the opinion of Jean Peyrot, sometime Father Ambrosius, that he and the
packet will be there. This has been a delightful call, monsieur, and I
am loath to let you go. But it is time I was free to look for that
packet."

M. Etienne's eyes went over to the chest.

"I wish you all success in your arduous search."

"It is like to be, in truth, a long and weary search," Peyrot sighed.
"My ignorance of the perpetrators of the outrage makes my task difficult
indeed. But rest assured, monsieur, that I shall question every man in
Paris, if need be. I shall leave no stone unturned."

M. Etienne still pensively regarded the chest.

"If you leave no key unturned, 'twill be more to the purpose."

"You appear yet to nurse the belief that I have the packet. But as a
matter of fact, monsieur, I have not."

I studied his grave face, and could not for the life of me make out
whether he were lying. M. Etienne said merely:

"Come, Felix."

"You'll drink a glass before you go?" Peyrot cried hospitably, running
to fill a goblet muddy with his last pouring. But M. Etienne drew back.

"Well, I don't blame you. I wouldn't drink it myself if I were a count,"
Peyrot said, setting the draught to his own lips. "After this noon I
shall drink it no more all summer. I shall live like a king.

_Kiss me, Folly; hug me, Mirth:
Life without you's nothing worth!_

Monsieur, can I lend you a hat?"

I had already opened the door and was holding it for my master to pass,
when Peyrot picked up from the floor and held out to him a battered and
dirty toque, with its draggled feather hanging forlornly over the side.
Chafed as he was, M. Etienne could not deny a laugh to the rascal's
impudence.

"I cannot rob monsieur," he said.

"M. le Comte need have no scruple. I shall buy me better out of his
fifty pistoles."

But M. Etienne was out in the passage, I following, banging the door
after me. We went down the stair in time to Peyrot's lusty carolling:

_Mirth I'll keep, though riches fly,
While Folly's sure to linger by!_

"Think you we'll get the packet?" I asked.

"Aye. I think he wants his fifty pistoles. Mordieu! it's galling to let
this dog set the terms."

"Monsieur," I cried, "perhaps he'll not stir out at once. I'll run home
for Vigo and his men, and we'll make the rascal disgorge."

"Now are you more z