‘Better than ever paid duty in the city,’ said Lachaussée, producing a bottle from a closet. ‘They watch the town, but forget the river.’
‘That is right good Burgundy,’ observed Sainte-Croix, as he tasted it.
‘The best that the vineyards of Auxerre can produce. One needs it in such a dismal outskirt, Heaven knows!’
‘Your position might be worse.’
‘It might be much better,’ returned Lachaussée carelessly. ‘I am glad you have come. I spoke to the Marquis about entering his service, for I am somewhat weary of the faubourgs; and he referred me to you. You do not want a character, I presume, or a reference?’
He gave out these words full of meaning, and looked earnestly at Sainte-Croix as he uttered them.
‘You will remain here during my pleasure,’ replied the other, refilling his glass.
‘And suppose it wearies me?’
‘I shall tell you a story to amuse you and beguile the time,’ Gaudin answered. ‘But possibly you know it: it relates to an event that occurred some three years back at Milan.’
Lachaussée was pouring out some wine for himself. He placed the cup down on the table, and regarded Sainte-Croix with a look of mingled fear and mistrust. Gaudin cast his eye round, and perceiving that the attention of the other was arrested, continued—