"Your card?" said De Loignac.
"What! M. de Loignac, do you not know the son of your old friend, whom you have danced twenty times on your knee?"—"No."
"I am Pertinax de Montcrabeau," replied the young man, with astonishment. "Do you not know me now?"
"When I am on service, I know no one. Your card, monsieur?"
He held it out. "All right! pass," said De Loignac.
The third now approached, whose card was demanded in the same terms. The man plunged his hand into a little goatskin pouch which he wore, but in vain; he was so embarrassed by the child in his arms, that he could not find it.
"What the devil are you doing with that child?" asked De Loignac.
"He is my son, monsieur."
"Well; put your son down. You are married, then?"—-"Yes, monsieur."
"At twenty?"