"Do you call an agreeable little trip emigration?"
"My dear general, those little trips, I know what they are,--worse than a journey round the world; you know when they begin, but nobody knows when they'll end. And, besides, there is one thing--you will hardly, perhaps, believe it--"
"What is that?"
"You saw yesterday, I may say this morning, that in spite of my age I have a very tolerable appetite; and I can certify that I never had an indigestion in my life. I can eat anything without being made uncomfortable."
"Well?"
"Well, that devilish London fog, I never could digest it. Isn't that curious?"
"Very good; then go to Italy, Spain, Switzerland, wherever you please, but don't stay at Souday. Leave Machecoul; leave La Vendée."
"Ha! ha! ha!"
"Yes, yes."
"Can it be that I am compromised?" said the marquis, half to himself, and rubbing his hands cheerfully.