“Good, good, you remember now.”
“With all the more pleasure as it is but a step from Master locksmith to master gunsmith,” said the other.
“Ah, good, good, I remember now. Yes, it was the sixth of October, when the King went to Paris: we talked about him.”
“And I found your conversation interesting, Master Gamain; so that, as your memory comes home and I want to enjoy it again, I should like to know, if I am not too inquisitive, what the deuse you were doing across the road where a vehicle might have cut you in two? Have you sorrows, old blade, and had you screwed up your mind to suicide?”
“Faith, no! What was I doing flat across the road, eh? Was I in the road?”
“Look at your clothes.”
“Whew!” whistled Gamain after the inspection. “Mother Gamain will kick up a hullabaloo for she said yesterday: ‘Don’t put on your new coat; any old thing will do for the Tuileries.'”
“Hello? been to the Tuileries? were you coming from the Tuileries when I picked you up?” asked the kind soul.
“Why, yes, that’s about the size of it,” responded Gamain, scratching his head and trying to collect his entangled ideas; “certainly I was coming home from the Tuileries. Why not? It is no mystery that I am master locksmith to Master Veto.”
“Who is he?”