A Start in Life [35]
the fat farmer; "and I'll break a crust here
and now."
"Give us a good breakfast," cried Georges, twirling his cane in a
cavalier manner which excited the admiration of poor Oscar.
But that admiration was turned to jealousy when he saw the gay
adventurer pull out from a side-pocket a small straw case, from which
he selected a light-colored cigar, which he proceeded to smoke on the
threshold of the inn door while waiting for breakfast.
"Do you smoke?" he asked of Oscar.
"Sometimes," replied the ex-schoolboy, swelling out his little chest
and assuming a jaunty air.
Georges presented the open case to Oscar and Schinner.
"Phew!" said the great painter; "ten-sous cigars!"
"The remains of those I brought back from Spain," said the adventurer.
"Do you breakfast here?"
"No," said the artist. "I am expected at the chateau. Besides, I took
something at the Lion d'Argent just before starting."
"And you?" said Georges to Oscar.
"I have breakfasted," replied Oscar.
Oscar would have given ten years of his life for boots and straps to
his trousers. He sneezed, he coughed, he spat, and swallowed the smoke
with ill-disguised grimaces.
"You don't know how to smoke," said Schinner; "look at me!"
With a motionless face Schinner breathed in the smoke of his cigar and
let it out through his nose without the slightest contraction of
feature. Then he took another whiff, kept the smoke in his throat,
removed the cigar from his lips, and allowed the smoke slowly and
gracefully to escape them.
"There, young man," said the great painter.
"Here, young man, here's another way; watch this," said Georges,
imitating Schinner, but swallowing the smoke and exhaling none.
"And my parents believed they had educated me!" thought Oscar,
endeavoring to smoke with better grace.
But his nausea was so strong that he was thankful when Mistigris
filched his cigar, remarking, as he smoked it with evident
satisfaction, "You haven't any contagious diseases, I hope."
Oscar in reply would fain have punched his head.
"How he does spend money!" he said, looking at Colonel Georges. "Eight
francs for Alicante and the cheese-cakes; forty sous for cigars; and
his breakfast will cost him--"
"Ten francs at least," replied Mistigris; "but that's how things are.
'Sharp stomachs make short purses.'"
"Come, Pere Leger, let us drink a bottle of Bordeaux together," said
Georges to the farmer.
"Twenty francs for his breakfast!" cried Oscar; "in all, more than
thirty-odd francs since we started!"
Killed by a sense of his inferiority, Oscar sat down on a stone post,
lost in a revery which did not allow him to perceive that his
trousers, drawn up by the effect of his position, showed the point of
junction between the old top of his stocking and the new "footing,"--
his mother's handiwork.
"We are brothers in socks," said Mistigris, pulling up his own
trousers sufficiently to show an effect of the same kind,--"'By the
footing, Hercules.'"
The count, who overheard this, laughed as he stood with folded arms
under the porte-cochere, a little behind the other travellers. However
nonsensical these lads might be, the grave statesman envied their very
follies; he liked their bragging and enjoyed the fun of their lively
chatter.
"Well, are you to have Les Moulineaux? for I know you went to Paris to
get the money for the purchase," said the inn-keeper to Pere Leger,
whom he had just taken to the stables to see a horse he wanted to sell
to him. "It will be queer if you manage to fleece a peer of France and
a minister of State like the Comte de Serizy."
The person thus alluded to showed no sign upon his face as he turned
to look at the farmer.
"I've done for him," replied Pere Leger, in a low voice.
"Good! I like to see those nobles fooled. If you should want twenty
thousand francs or
and now."
"Give us a good breakfast," cried Georges, twirling his cane in a
cavalier manner which excited the admiration of poor Oscar.
But that admiration was turned to jealousy when he saw the gay
adventurer pull out from a side-pocket a small straw case, from which
he selected a light-colored cigar, which he proceeded to smoke on the
threshold of the inn door while waiting for breakfast.
"Do you smoke?" he asked of Oscar.
"Sometimes," replied the ex-schoolboy, swelling out his little chest
and assuming a jaunty air.
Georges presented the open case to Oscar and Schinner.
"Phew!" said the great painter; "ten-sous cigars!"
"The remains of those I brought back from Spain," said the adventurer.
"Do you breakfast here?"
"No," said the artist. "I am expected at the chateau. Besides, I took
something at the Lion d'Argent just before starting."
"And you?" said Georges to Oscar.
"I have breakfasted," replied Oscar.
Oscar would have given ten years of his life for boots and straps to
his trousers. He sneezed, he coughed, he spat, and swallowed the smoke
with ill-disguised grimaces.
"You don't know how to smoke," said Schinner; "look at me!"
With a motionless face Schinner breathed in the smoke of his cigar and
let it out through his nose without the slightest contraction of
feature. Then he took another whiff, kept the smoke in his throat,
removed the cigar from his lips, and allowed the smoke slowly and
gracefully to escape them.
"There, young man," said the great painter.
"Here, young man, here's another way; watch this," said Georges,
imitating Schinner, but swallowing the smoke and exhaling none.
"And my parents believed they had educated me!" thought Oscar,
endeavoring to smoke with better grace.
But his nausea was so strong that he was thankful when Mistigris
filched his cigar, remarking, as he smoked it with evident
satisfaction, "You haven't any contagious diseases, I hope."
Oscar in reply would fain have punched his head.
"How he does spend money!" he said, looking at Colonel Georges. "Eight
francs for Alicante and the cheese-cakes; forty sous for cigars; and
his breakfast will cost him--"
"Ten francs at least," replied Mistigris; "but that's how things are.
'Sharp stomachs make short purses.'"
"Come, Pere Leger, let us drink a bottle of Bordeaux together," said
Georges to the farmer.
"Twenty francs for his breakfast!" cried Oscar; "in all, more than
thirty-odd francs since we started!"
Killed by a sense of his inferiority, Oscar sat down on a stone post,
lost in a revery which did not allow him to perceive that his
trousers, drawn up by the effect of his position, showed the point of
junction between the old top of his stocking and the new "footing,"--
his mother's handiwork.
"We are brothers in socks," said Mistigris, pulling up his own
trousers sufficiently to show an effect of the same kind,--"'By the
footing, Hercules.'"
The count, who overheard this, laughed as he stood with folded arms
under the porte-cochere, a little behind the other travellers. However
nonsensical these lads might be, the grave statesman envied their very
follies; he liked their bragging and enjoyed the fun of their lively
chatter.
"Well, are you to have Les Moulineaux? for I know you went to Paris to
get the money for the purchase," said the inn-keeper to Pere Leger,
whom he had just taken to the stables to see a horse he wanted to sell
to him. "It will be queer if you manage to fleece a peer of France and
a minister of State like the Comte de Serizy."
The person thus alluded to showed no sign upon his face as he turned
to look at the farmer.
"I've done for him," replied Pere Leger, in a low voice.
"Good! I like to see those nobles fooled. If you should want twenty
thousand francs or