A Start in Life [23]
count of what, I'd like to know."
"Monsieur le comte," said Pierrotin, visibly troubled, "I am afraid
you will be uncomfortable."
"Why didn't you keep better count of us?" said Mistigris. "'Short
counts make good ends.'"
"Mistigris, behave yourself," said his master.
Monsieur de Serizy was evidently taken by all the persons in the coach
for a bourgeois of the name of Lecomte.
"Don't disturb any one," he said to Pierrotin. "I will sit with you in
front."
"Come, Mistigris," said the master to his rapin, "remember the respect
you owe to age; you don't know how shockingly old you may be yourself
some day. 'Travel deforms youth.' Give your place to monsieur."
Mistigris opened the leathern curtain and jumped out with the agility
of a frog leaping into the water.
"You mustn't be a rabbit, august old man," he said to the count.
"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 shirt-collar high enough to make a large square patch of white
on each cheek. His black trousers covered his boots, the toes of
which were barely seen. He wore no decoration in his button-hole, and
doeskin gloves concealed his hands. Nothing about him betrayed to the
eyes of youth a peer of France, and one of the most useful statesmen
in the kingdom.
Pere Leger had never seen the count, who, on his side, knew the former
only by name. When the count, as he got into the carriage, cast the
glance about him which affronted Georges